


Dreams of a (Black and) White Christmas

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Mostly) Unrelated Chapters, Assorted Continuities, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Prompt writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 26,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: It's that time of year - time to count down the days till Christmas. What better way than with daily prompts for Prowl and Jazz enjoying the holiday season together?





	1. Change of Plans (human AU)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a blatantly self-indulgent experiment. I've got a list of 24 prompts, one for each day until Christmas, and I'm going to try to write a drabble for all of them. The list I'm using is one I've had saved for nearly a year now - I don't have the link to the post I got them from anymore, but I found them on tumblr last December after it was too late for me to do anything with them. Now is finally my chance! *raises mug of warm winter beverage* Here's to making it all the way to Christmas!
> 
> I have no idea how related any of these will wind up being, since I'm writing them daily rather than posting pre-written material. It's going to be a grab bag of continuities, including some human AU; I'll mark the chapters individually so you can ignore those if that's not your cup of hot cocoa :) Happy Holidays everyone!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 1: “I know we hate each other but it’s Christmas eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside"_

“Fantastic.” Prowl hung his head as he checked the flight tracker on his desktop. The storm predicted to hit the city that evening had blown in just after lunch, darkening the window beside his desk hours before the early winter night turned the heavy gray skies pitch black. He’d watched his flight be pushed back and pushed back all afternoon and now, right as he was getting ready to leave for the airport, it had been cancelled. “So much for the weatherman.”

“Hey now, that ain’t very nice. What’d he ever do to you?”

Prowl looked up tiredly, really not in the mood to deal with his annoying coworker. “Nothing,” he sighed, starting the process of shutting down his applications to power down his computer for the long holiday weekend. A holiday weekend he would now be stuck spending here, instead of with his family. “Could you just…  _ not,  _ right now?”

“Not… what?” Jazz asked. He sounded confused, and the expression on his face when Prowl looked up again matched.

“Not bother me,” Prowl answered without venom. “Look, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go home.”

“Home, huh?” Jazz glanced at the suitcase beside Prowl’s chair, then at the flight tracker on the computer. “Doesn’t look like you’re gonna be able to  _ get  _ home, with your flight cancelled.”

“I meant,” Prowl ground out, irritation beginning to burn away at his exhaustion, “my apartment.”

“Right. Your apartment across town, which’ll take three times longer than normal to reach with the trains runnin’ as bad as the planes. Not to mention havin’ to walk home in the snow from the station.” Jazz stared at the monitor for a few more seconds, then turned to Prowl. “Come home with me.”

Prowl blinked stupidly, not sure he’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come home with me,” Jazz repeated. “I know you hate me, but it’s Christmas Eve. You shouldn’t have to spend it out in this mess, and then have Christmas by yourself.”

“I don’t  _ hate  _ you,” Prowl protested quickly, hoping that wasn’t what Jazz really thought about him. “I just–”

“–just don’t have the patience to deal with my shenanigans at work, I know.” Jazz grinned. “I promise I’m less annoying when I’m not gettin’ in the way of your deadlines. C’mon, what do you say? Come over, relax, hang out someplace warm and not-lonely. You’ve already got your suitcase with you, and I’m only a few blocks away.”

Not-lonely… “Won’t I be an inconvenience to your other guests?”

“Don’t have any.” Jazz shrugged, eyeing the flight tracker again. “My brother’s flight in got cancelled too.”

Meaning Jazz would be spending the holiday alone as well, unless Prowl said yes. And, surprisingly, he found himself wanting to do just that. He didn’t like being alone on Christmas, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jazz not being able to see his family either. Why not? It was only one night, after all, and Jazz was right. Maybe they would get along better outside the office.

“Well,” he began slowly, somewhat amazed at what he was about to say, “as long as you’re not throwing a party then.”

It took a minute for his meaning to sink in, but when it did, Jazz broke out into a huge smile. “You mean it? Awesome! You almost finished here? I’ll go get my coat; meet you in the lobby!” He was already dancing away as he spoke, calling the last words over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

Prowl hung his head again, but this time, he was laughing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 9: Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 1 (Human AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20174674)


	2. Gift in Giving (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 2: “I got you for secret santa so I got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that I’ve been in love with you 1234567 years”_

Everyone expected Jazz to be excited about celebrating Christmas with their new human friends, and no one was surprised to find him throwing himself into decorating the Ark, playing nonstop Christmas music, and coming up with ideas for a grand Christmas party. No one batted an optic at him leading the charge to make the Autobot’s first Christmas on Earth, indeed, their first Christmas anywhere, the best it could possibly be.

What they weren’t expecting was how active a role Prowl was taking in the festivities.

“Why wouldn’t I want to help?” Prowl asked when Spike expressed his surprise. “Planning and organizing a celebration is considerably more enjoyable than directing a battle.”

“Well, yeah, sure, of course it is, but it’s still a lot of work. Aren’t you too busy for all this Christmas stuff?”

“Woah now, don’t go chasin’ off my help!” Jazz cut in, appearing in the doorway as if the words ‘Christmas stuff’ had summoned him. “I need Prowl to make sure we get all the supplies in for the party and keep everyone on schedule.”

“ _You_ have a schedule?”

“Sure I do! Prowl wrote it for me.” Jazz grinned at the mech in question. “He even added a few ideas of his own for what we should do.”

“Jazz neglected to set up a Secret Santa,” Prowl said before Spike could ask. “Chip told me how they work, and I felt it would be a good way to help everyone start thinking about their fellow mechs and ways to make each other happy.”

“Really, a Secret Santa?” Spike’s expression turned hopeful. “Can I be part of it too?”

“Of course you can,” Prowl replied. “Why don’t you find out if the others would like to participate as well? I haven’t given out the names yet, so you still have time.”

“Awesome! I’ll go do that now!”

Jazz chuckled as he watched Spike run off. “You gonna pair the humans up with each other?”

“That would hardly be fair, would it?” Prowl shook his head. “No. I will be matching everyone randomly using an algorithm with some simple compatibility factors based solely on personality, not race.”

“See? This is why you’re so good at this.” Jazz leaned across the desk to give Prowl’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’m lookin’ forward to finding out who I’m shopping for!”

“So am I,” Prowl said as Jazz blew back out of his office,  _ It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas _ echoing down the halls behind him. “So am I.”

He didn’t tell Jazz that there was  _ one  _ selection in the drawing that wouldn’t be random. Jazz didn’t need to know that Prowl had suggested the Secret Santa specifically as a way to finally give the gift he’d been holding onto since before they’d been forced to leave Cybertron to  _ him. _

***

“Oh,  _ sweet! _ ” Sideswipe shouted as he tore the wrapping paper off his gift. Prowl stifled a groan. Whoever Sideswipe’s Secret Santa was had done an excellent job. Sideswipe would be getting a lot of mileage out of that oversized Super Soaker, and so would he — miles of write-ups and incident reports.

His trepidation must have shown on his face, because Sideswipe turned to him with a knowing grin. “Promise I won’t make your life  _ too  _ miserable,” he laughed, miming a shot at Cliffjumper. The smaller red mech clearly wanted to retaliate, but Bumblebee distracted him with the plate of Cybertronian ‘Christmas Cookies’. They were more like soft bar treats than actual cookies, since the semi-solidified energon was more of a gel than a wafer, but everyone agreed they were irresistible. And Wheeljack had only blown up the oven once working out how to make them! Prowl personally felt that qualified as a Christmas miracle by itself.

“See that you don’t,” he told Sideswipe, then nodded to Optimus to choose the next gift to hand out. “I don’t want to have to take anyone’s new toys away on Christmas.”

“You won’t have to,” Optimus said confidently, giving Sideswipe a look of his own. The Prime was wearing a massive red Santa hat on his helm, and his optics twinkled merrily just like the real Santa’s above the white beard covering his face mask. Sideswipe saluted him brightly, then turned his attention back to his present. “All right, the next gift is for…” Optimus rustled around under the tree for a moment before coming up with a small (for a Cybertronian) package wrapped in black and white paper with red and blue ribbons. Prowl felt his vents stall. “Jazz, this one has your name on it.”

“Not surprised, given the wrapping!” Jazz leapt over a pile of shredded paper and discarded boxes to take the present from Optimus. “Wonder who it’s from?”

“It’s a Secret Santa, Jazz,” Optimus reminded him. “Not knowing who it’s from is part of the fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But guessing’s fun, too.” Jazz grinned up at the Prime, then began carefully unwrapping the gift. Prowl tried not to be too obvious as he watched, but he couldn’t look away. He had to see Jazz’s reaction. What if he didn’t like it? What if it was too much? What if—

“Ohhh…” Jazz’s hand froze in mid-air above the box. Everyone who hadn’t already been watching him stopped their conversations as the lid slipped through his loose fingers and clattered to the floor.

Prowl forced down the urge to tuck his doorwings back. Or flee from the room. Or both.

“Well, come on then,” Spike piped up when no one else said anything. “What is it?”

Mutely (mutely!), Jazz  reached into the box and lifted out a small metal object — a rounded loop, with a thin handle off one side and an opening on the other, with two arms extending down from it. A thin piece of metal ran the length between the two arms and the circle on the end, sticking out past the end of the arms slightly at an angle. Jazz set the box aside and held the thing in his hands like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, optic band pale with shock.

“Jazz?” Spike called. He had come over for a closer look, but now seemed concerned for his friend. Prowl could feel his frame heating nervously. He’d thought Jazz would be happy, not…  _ this. _ Maybe he’d made a mistake. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said slowly, his voice so soft it was hardly a whisper at first. “I am.” At last, his visor returned to its normal glow — and kept going, brighter and brighter as his whole face lit up with joy. He knelt down beside Spike, holding the object out so he could see it. “Know what this is?”

“No,” Spike said, examining it carefully. “It kind of looks like a hair ornament.”

Jazz, and several of the other Autobots, laughed at that. “It kinda does, doesn’t it? But it’s not an ornament. It’s an instrument.” He brought the thing up to his mouth and placed the arms between his lips, carefully positioned so he could hold the rounded end with one hand and flick the protruding end of the central piece of metal with the other. A strong, resonant hum buzzed from it, changing in pitch as Jazz changed the shape of his mouth.

“Wow!” Spike’s eyes went wide at the sound. “That’s so cool!”

“Is, isn’t it?” Jazz played a few more notes, then stopped. “You’ve got somethin’ like this here on Earth you know. In English you call it a jaw harp. But what’s really amazin’ about this one is it ain’t just an over-sized reproduction someone had made here. This,” and here his voice went soft again, “was made on Cybertron. In my hometown, even. Someone’s been saving something this special all this time, and now they’ve given it to me.”

“Someone must really like you then,” Carly said, joining Spike at Jazz’s feet. 

“Yeah?” Jazz finally looked up, one by one meeting everyone’s optics around the room. One by one he kept looking, searching for the giver. When Jazz’s gaze reached him, Prowl couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even move. That stare saw right through him, he was sure. Jazz  _ knew. _

A gentle smile appeared on Jazz’s face. “Maybe I like them too.”


	3. Strategic Snow Warfare (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 3: SNOWBALL FIGHTS ___

He probably should have known he’d regret getting Prowl involved. A tiny voice in the back of his processor had tried to warn him, even as Jazz had pleaded with the stubborn mech to come outside and have a little bit of fun with the rest of the crew, but he’d ignored it. After all, it was just a harmless snowball fight! 

Too bad there was no such thing as ‘just a harmless fight’ to a tactician.

They’d split into teams to start the battle, each side taking time to build up their defenses and stockpile ammo. Jazz and Prowl had wound up on opposite teams, and it wasn’t until the battle had officially begun that Jazz got to see just what sort of advantage Prowl had given the opposing side.

“How did they get the walls of their fort to be so strong?!” Sideswipe complained, diving for cover behind the (much weaker) walls of their (crumbling) fort after a failed rush. “Nothing I threw at it did anything at all!”

“Noticed that myself,” Jazz scowled as a barrage of snowballs came pelting overhead, forcing him to duck. “They did somethin’ to those snowballs too.” At least, it seemed like they had. The things flew uncannily accurately, and stung a lot more than Jazz expected when they made contact with a mech’s plating.

“Cheaters!” Sideswipe waited until the latest volley had stopped, then grabbed a handful of ammo and leapt back into the fray.

Jazz left him to it, deciding that if Prowl was going to run a snowball fight like a real battle, then he was going to treat it like one. Time for a little stealth and sabotage!

The enemy fort was positioned well, unsurprisingly. Prowl had situated it on a slightly elevated shelf backed by tall rocks, with no cover to hide behind on a frontal approach. But Jazz didn’t plan on coming in from the front. Let Sideswipe and the rest of his team keep providing a distraction. Jazz was going to sneak around behind the fort and see about climbing those rocks. The walls of their fort would be useless to defend them if Jazz dropped down inside them!

He’d made it almost to the top of the rocks when his hands suddenly encountered ice instead of stone, and he slipped.

“Careful,” Prowl said behind him. “You wouldn’t want to fall now, do you?”

“I’m always careful!” Jazz shot back, then realized who he was talking to. “Ack! Prowl!” His helm whipped around to see Prowl standing below, looking up at him with a calculating expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to attempt this exact maneuver,” he replied with a bit of a smug grin. “That’s why I had Inferno spray the rocks with water.”

“You iced the rocks?!” Jazz glared down at him, the pieces all starting to fall together. “You iced your fort too, didn’t you? And your ammo!”

Yup. That was definitely a smug grin. “I was simply doing my job: making the best use of my resources.”

“No,” Jazz countered, trying to find a handhold that wasn’t encased in ice. “You were cheating. It’s a _snow_ ball fight, not an _ice_ ball fight!”

“No one said there was a rule against it.” Prowl reached down to scoop up a large handful of snow. “Though if it’s a snowball you want…” 

“Ah! Wait! That’s not what I—”

Too late; Prowl packed the snow together, took aim, and let the snowball fly. Jazz had nowhere to dodge, and the frozen projectile smacked him squarely on the helm. He clung to the rocks, desperately trying not to lose his grip as Prowl threw another, then another, until finally he wasn’t able to hold on any longer.

_ THWHUMP! _

Jazz landed in the snowbank, sinking helplessly into the fluffy white drifts. Prowl was already standing over him before he could even start to get up, armed with a smile and another snowball. “Surrender,” he offered, “and I’ll spare your life.”

Jazz laughed and flopped back into the snow. “All right, you got me. What are you going to do with your prisoner?”

Prowl held out his hand. “I’m going to help you up,” he said, still smiling, “and then you’re going to command your troops to stand down.”

“Oh I am, am I?” Jazz took the hand and let Prowl help pull him to his feet.

“Yes.” Prowl tossed his snowball aside, harmlessly. “Because then, we can all go inside and warm up. And I’d really rather share an oilbath with you than a snowdrift.”

A flash of warmth heated Jazz’s plating, making the clinging snow melt…

…then freeze, forming ice in his joints so he couldn’t move.

“Cheater!”


	4. Crimes in the Kitchen (IDW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 4: “Hi we’re neighbours and omg are you alright I could smell cooking/burning - whoaaa now that’s just embarrassing? Step aside I’ll handle this”_

Prowl had never made a point of actually meeting his neighbors in the residential block where he lived in Iacon. He wasn’t a very social mech to begin with, and most of his neighbors, once they found out what he did for a living, weren’t interested in talking to him either. Being a homicide detective didn’t exactly lend itself to comfortable conversation, apparently. He did, however, keep track of who his neighbors were. Prowl noticed when new residents moved in; he just didn’t bother introducing himself or trying to make friends.

Then Jazz moved into the unit across from his.

Other than running a brief background check, which turned up only a handful of warnings and misdemeanors, nothing serious, Prowl didn’t plan on having anything to do with the Polyhexian migrant. Easy enough, since they worked opposite shifts. As long as Jazz didn’t come knocking on Prowl’s door to introduce himself, they should have had no reason to interact at all.

At least, that’s what Prowl had thought. Things wound up going very differently his first day off after Jazz moved in.

Prowl had spent the morning relaxing with his energon and a new mystery novel — new being a relative term, since he’d picked up the datapad used at a local resale shop, but it was one he hadn’t read before. He was thoroughly enjoying it when he noticed an odd sour smell. It was very faint at first, so much so that he thought maybe he was imagining it, but it gradually became more and more pronounced… and unpleasant.

When the first notes of  _ burning  _ joined the medley of unpleasant aromas, Prowl put down his datapad and got up to track down the source of the smell. It didn’t take long; it was immediately obvious when he opened his door that the problem was in the apartment across the hall.

Prowl didn’t hesitate. He walked the short distance to Jazz’s door and knocked.

“Coming! Just a sec,” he heard from the other side. A burst of acrid smoke hit him in the face when the door opened. “Oh, geez.” Jazz had a blue visor over his optics, but Prowl got the distinct impression from the way he tilted his head back that he was rolling them in exasperation. “Did someone call in a complaint? Nothin’s on fire and I turned on the fan, it just hasn’t cleared out yet. I promise, everything’s fine, officer…?” 

Right, his paintjob. “Prowl. My name is Prowl, but I’m not here because of a complaint,” he assured Jazz. “I live across the hall and smelled something burning.”

“I got a cop for a neighbor? Note to self: keep the partyin’ to a minimum.” He was smiling though, and didn’t sound like he really minded at all. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I got it under control now. Sorry about the smell. I’m Jazz, by the way.”

“As long as you aren’t hurt, Jazz.” Prowl couldn’t help himself; curiosity had him trying to look over the smaller mech’s shoulder to see the kitchen. “What were you making?”

“Ruining, you mean,” Jazz laughed. “I was trying to make flavored oilcakes. You know, the kind they sell the mix for? I got a tray of mini molds and was trying to whip up a batch to bring to a potluck party tonight at work, but…” He sighed, shaking his helm in defeat. “Guess I’ll have to grab something from the store on my way in instead.”

Prowl was familiar with the cake mixes Jazz was talking about. They were some of the simplest things in the world to make — all you had to do was follow the instructions on the box! “How did you manage to mangle the recipe that badly?” he asked before he could stop himself. “I can’t imagine what you could have done to it to make it smell like that.”

“Heh. The smell ain’t even the worst part. You should see what it did to my oven.” Jazz stepped back into his apartment, waving for Prowl to come in as well. “It’s going to take forever to scrub clean.”

Prowl followed him, but stopped short when he saw the kitchen. Jazz wasn’t kidding: there was blackened runoff from the mold tray all over the inside of the oven, which was standing open to allow the fumes to disperse. Congealed blobs in several different colors clung to the counter, the cabinets, and the floor, and there was a metal sheet with twelve blackened lumps sitting on the stovetop beneath the exhaust hood, which was humming away on full power. The mold tray itself, encrusted with blackened residue and slightly warped, sat smoking in the sink.

“ _How_ did you manage all _that_ with a box mix?!” Prowl stared at the mess, processor automatically analyzing the scene to reconstruct the scenario. “It looks like you substituted antifreeze for high-viscosity coolant, tried to mix the ingredients with a blender on high without using a cover, spooned the unevenly mixed results into a chilling mold instead of a baking mold, dusted them with whatever you could find, then left them in the oven until they exploded!”

“Wow. That’s, uh, pretty much exactly what happened,” Jazz said, giving Prowl a startled look. “How’d you do that?”

“I’m a homicide detective. Reconstructing the scene of the crime from the available evidence is what I do.” He realized after he’d finished speaking that he’d just compared Jazz’s kitchen to a crime scene and was about to apologize, but Jazz had already burst out laughing.

“Well, I did commit multiple murders in here!” Jazz grinned and held out his hands jokingly. “Guess you better arrest me so the families of those poor innocent cakes can have justice.”

“What about the families of the appliances?” Prowl found himself joking back. “You traumatized an innocent mixer and assaulted an innocent oven as well. Not to mention the grief counselling the sink is going to require after being forced to sit with the corpse of that mold for who knows how long.”

Jazz’s vents were clicking slightly, stuttering on the smoke he’d inhaled as he continued to laugh. “You’re hilarious,” he wheezed. “Tell ya what — I’ll go ahead and plead guilty. Think you can reduce my sentence?”

Prowl wasn’t used to people finding him amusing. It was kind of… nice. “I suppose I could try to cut a deal with the judge,” he said slowly, pretending to consider while he actually debated the merits of the idea he’d just had. It was his day off. He’d planned to spend it alone, relaxing quietly and reading his novel. Was he willing to give that up to spend the day with Jazz? 

Yes. Yes he was.

“He’s offering to commute your sentence,” Prowl said after a ‘comm call’ with the ‘judge’. “He’ll let you off with community service, which would consist of cleaning every inch of this mess, on one condition.”

“Oh yeah?” Jazz’s visor sparkled with interest. “And what condition would that be?”

“That you agree to remedial cooking classes to prevent further incidents.” Prowl offered a small smile. “Supervised by a qualified officer, of course.”

Jazz chuckled. “Said qualified officer bein’ you, I suppose?”

“Perhaps,” Prowl replied hopefully. “I do have a clean kitchen and a fresh cake mix, if you’re interested.”

“Really?” Jazz’s teasing tone sobered. “You’d be willing to help me out like that?”

“I would,” Prowl answered honestly. “You look like you could use a hand.” Then he smirked. “Consider it an investment in making sure my apartment complex doesn’t burn to the ground the next time you attempt to cook anything. The level of disaster you’ve accomplished is really quite embarrassing.”

“Hey!” But Jazz was laughing again. “I resemble that.”

“You’ll get better.” Prowl turned to leave, then paused, waiting for Jazz. “Shall we?”

Nodding eagerly, Jazz left his mess behind for later and followed Prowl for his first cooking lesson, and the beginning of their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 15: Experiments in the Kitchen (IDW)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20314126)


	5. Well Laid Plans (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 5: Person A seducing person B into taking a few steps back/backing them against the wall (”Oh look, how did that mistletoe get right there????”)_

“Jazz? Are you in here?”

The mech in question flinched at the sound of his name, ducking behind the couch in the rec room. Maybe Prowl hadn’t seen him?

“Ah, there you are.” Drat. He  _ had  _ seen him. “Did you finish the brief for Mirage’s last mission yet?”

“I’m workin’ on gettin’ it turned in.” Jazz pretended to pick up some ‘dropped’ decorations and stood back up. He’d just gone behind the couch to pick them up; he wasn’t hiding, nope! Not him! “You’ll have it on your desk tomorrow.”

“It was supposed to be on my desk  _ today,  _ Jazz.” Prowl walked over to stand on the other side of the couch and frowned, eyeing the tinsel and ribbons in Jazz’s arms. “That doesn’t look very much like you’re working on it.”

“I am! Really! But the Christmas party’s tonight, and I gotta finish the decorations too!” Jazz started edging around one side of the couch. Prowl moved to mirror him, so he stopped and tried going the other way. Prowl followed. “Aw, come on, Prowl,” Jazz whined, trapped behind the couch. “Just let me finish here first? It’s next on my list, promise!”

“And you’re at the top of mine.” Prowl fixed him with a long stare. “If it’s not in my inbox by the time the party starts tonight, there will be consequences.”

Jazz held his breath until Prowl was gone, then jumped over the sofa and walked over to Skyfire like nothing had happened. “Hey, mech! Care to lend a hand? I could use your help with the stuff that needs to go up high.”

***

“I still don’t have a report on my desk.” Prowl didn’t even bother with a greeting this time, cutting straight to the point. “You are still going to have it for me by tonight, aren’t you?”

“I just need to check in with Sideswipe real quick,” Jazz swore, swearing internally at having let himself get caught again. He’d practically run right into Prowl on his way back from the storage hangar, and now the mech wouldn’t get out of the doorway. The decorations in the rec room had been finished a while ago (and they looked pretty fantastic, if Jazz did say so himself!), but what kind of party would it be without highgrade? Not that Sideswipe would know anything about that. No, Sides was just in charge of the goodies for the refreshment table: the gels, the candies… the spiked punch… “You wouldn’t want everyone to go hungry tonight, would you?”

“There’s always something else with you, isn’t there?” Prowl sighed. “Why don’t  _ I  _ talk to Sideswipe, and  _ you  _ go finish your work?”

Whoops. That was all too reasonable, except for the ‘special’ preparations Sideswipe was making. Jazz suspected Prowl knew that based on the shrewd look he was giving him, but while he’d been known to turn a blind optic to certain consumables once a party was underway, Jazz didn’t want to risk anything beforehand.

“You know what, I appreciate the offer, but Sideswipe’s really expectin’ to see me,” Jazz hedged, trying to find a way to slip around Prowl without success. “He wanted to talk about something personal, not just the party stuff, and I’m not sure he’d be comfortable talkin’ to you. What with you bein’ his commanding officer and all.”

“Might I remind you that you are an officer as well?” Prowl crossed his arms, still steadfastly blocking Jazz’s path. “And that one of the duties of an officer is to complete their datawork in a timely fashion?”

“Look, it’s what? An hour till the end of your shift? You’re not going to be able to do anything with it until tomorrow, even if I stop what I’m doing and take care of it right now,” Jazz argued, bargaining for time. “What difference does it make when I turn it in, so long as you have it in the morning?”

“Will I? Have it in the morning, that is?”

“Cross my spark!” 

Prowl still didn’t look pleased, but he did finally back up enough for Jazz to take off down the hall. “Don’t worry! You can count on me!”

***

“I thought you said I could count on you.”

“Huh?” Jazz spun around as the words penetrated the pleasant, warm buzz in his processor. Sideswipe had really outdone himself with the highgrade this time! “Oh! Prowl! Where’ve you been? The party started awhile ago!”

“I was busy making sure all of my work was done,” Prowl answered, ignoring the plate of goodies Jazz held out to him. He didn’t seem to be all that interested in the festive holiday tunes Blaster was pumping out either.  _ Someone  _ wasn’t in a very holiday mood! “Unlike some mechs I could name.”

“Hey, there’s still time.” Jazz set the tray down and stepped back as Prowl moved in closer. “It ain’t even tomorrow yet, let alone the beginnin’ of your shift!”

“No, it’s not.” Prowl kept walking toward him, steering the slightly tipsy Polyhexian down the length of the table towards the enormous evergreen tree at the end. “But you aren’t going to be finishing that report before then, are you? Not when you’ve already gone and gotten drunk.”

“I’m not  _ that  _ drunk!” An ill-timed stumble stole any and all credibility from that statement. “Woah!”

“Careful, you’ll fall.” Prowl caught Jazz’s arm, stumbling the last few steps with him to the tree as he steadied him.

Jazz looked up at Prowl from where he was pinned against the pine boughs, surrounded by silver tinsel and softly glowing lights. “Okay, maybe I am a little tipsy,” he admitted. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have the thing on yer desk b’fore you wake up in the morning though.”

“Yes it does,” Prowl disagreed, though there was no anger in his voice. He actually sounded more amused even than resigned. “I know you better than that. You’re going to keep drinking, and dancing, and partying, and when you get back to your quarters you’ll pass out and forget all about it.”

“Hmmm, you sure about that?” Jazz purred, stroking his fingers up Prowl’s arm. “Maybe I won’t wind up in  _ my  _ quarters, if you know what I mean.”

“You’ll still forget the report,” Prowl huffed, trying to retrieve his arm. Jazz just closed his fingers around his arm holding him in place. “Jazz. What are you doing?”

“Not lettin’ you get away.” A slow, sensuous smirk spread across Jazz’s face. “You been chasin’ me all day, and now I got you right where I want you.” Jazz raised his other hand and pointed. “Look up.”

Prowl did, and Jazz looked with him, tilting his helm back into the tree. There it was, right above them — a sprig of mistletoe, nestled in the garland. Right where Jazz had put it. “Oh my. However did that get there?”

Jazz could practically see the pieces coming together in Prowl’s processor. “You—”

“—were plannin’ this all along? May~be.” Jazz looped his arms loosely over Prowl’s shoulders and rose up on his feet to place a soft, tender kiss on Prowl’s lips. “Merry Christmas, Prowler.”

Prowl stood frozen for a moment, too surprised to respond. Then, slowly, he began to chuckle. “You had the report done since this morning, didn’t you?”

“On the table in my room,” Jazz confirmed. “But I knew you’d stop chasin’ me if I turned it in.”

“You could have just  _ said  _ what you wanted,” Prowl said, optics sparkling with the reflections of the lights on the tree. “Why make it into such an elaborate game?”

“Because,” Jazz said, leaning in for another kiss. “I like bein’ at the top of your list.”

“My naughty list, maybe,” Prowl laughed and kissed back, pressing Jazz deeper into the tree. He was probably getting sap all over his plating, but he didn’t care. Prowl could help him wash it off later. “Merry Christmas, Jazz.”


	6. Silent Night (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 6: “You’re in the hospital for the holidays so I came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room I love you Merry Christmas”_

Visiting hours at the hospital were over for the day.

Prowl didn't care. 

Fortunately the nurse walking the halls on Jazz’s floor didn't care either. Prowl had standing permission to be there, no matter what time it was.

_ What time do you have to leave? _

_ Tomorrow morning, early. I’ll be gone before you wake up. _

The box he'd brought with him wasn't very large, but he carried it in both hands like it contained something precious. Prowl walked to the chair beside the berth — his chair — and set it down gently. He didn't bother turning on the room’s lights. He didn't need them.

_ Be careful, Jazz. Come home safe. _

_ Aww, you know I’ll always come back to you! Don’t worry. Everything’ll be fine. _

Flipping up the top of the box, Prowl lifted out the first thing inside: a string of lights. Bright blue-white LED Christmas lights. The same color as Jazz’s visor, when it was lit. They were just the right length to go over the window where Jazz could see them when he woke.

He took his time hanging them. They needed to be perfect.

_ What are you fiddling with now? _

_ Decorations, of course! Haven’t you ever heard of Christmas, Prowler? _

There were more lights in the box beneath the first string. Prowl put each one up with care, draping them with mathematical precision over the doorway, and above the berth. They cast a soft glow over its occupant when Prowl turned them on, unblemished white and black plating twinkling with the light.

It almost made the myriad monitors clustered around the berth look like one more part of the decorations. The leads and wires trailing over Jazz’s frame weren’t as conspicuous in the low light, and the indicators on the screens in their blues and greens could be just another set of Christmas lights, if Prowl didn’t look too carefully.

_ Don’t you have more important things to worry about right now than a borrowed holiday? _

_ Mech, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for this mission. I’d rather focus on something fun right now, and Christmas is fun. _

The tinsel came next. Prowl wound the glittery white garland around the stand for the energon drip, then along the padded rails of the berth. It looked like snow, freshly fallen around his sleeping mate.

Jazz would have loved to be the one doing this. Prowl would have resented it, called it unnecessary, complained about the mess. But if it meant that he was the one lying on the berth instead of Jazz, Prowl would have been happy to let Jazz turn his hospital room into a full-blown indoor Mardi Gras parade.

_ You’ll just have to take it all down later. _

_ Doesn’t mean it’s not worth putting up. It’s important to celebrate the good things in life, Prowl. Especially when we’ve lost so much. _

What they had lost… Prowl had to pause in his work, struggling to keep his composure from breaking. He hadn’t lost Jazz. Not really. He was right there, sleeping peacefully, Still sleeping… 

Prowl choked off the beginnings of a keening sob. On the off chance that Jazz could hear him, he didn’t want him to hear him cry.

_ I don’t want to lose you. _

_ You won’t. _

The rest of the decorations went up one by one. Prowl hung ornaments on fine wire from the ceiling, and set the small tree on the berthside table. A tiny golden star perched at the very top, lit up from the inside by an equally tiny LED. Cutouts in the metal of the star created shadows on the wall behind the tree, and on Jazz’s face. The outline of a lacy filigree snowflake rested on his cheek just below his visor.

Prowl reached up to stroke his thumb over it. The snowflake remained, unmelted by the heat of his frame. Jazz’s plating was cool beneath his hand, cooler than it should have been in normal recharge. And he was so very, very still.

And quiet.

So much quiet around a mech as full of life as Jazz was wrong.

_ Oh, Primus! Jazz! What happened to him? Please, tell me he’ll be alright! _

_ We’re doing the best we can for him, but he’s suffering from a severe processor injury. We don’t know what condition he’ll be in when he wakes up. Or how long that will take. _

_ But he will wake up. He will… won’t he? _

There was only one thing left in the box. Prowl picked it up and set the box on the floor, clearing the chair so he could sit at Jazz’s side. He lifted Jazz’s hand to place a snow globe in his palm, gently wrapping his fingers around it. Prowl wound the key on the bottom, holding on to both Jazz and the snow globe as the music box inside began to play.

_ Silent night _

_ Holy night _

“Merry Christmas, Jazz.” Prowl’s vocalizer crackled like the popping of Jazz’s favorite record. “I love you.”

_ Sleep in heavenly peace _

_ Sleep in heavenly peace _


	7. Spirit of Fun (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 7: “YES I BOOBY TRAPPED THE PRESENTS BECAUSE YOU DO THIS EVERY F*CKING YEAR”_

Every year, without fail, it was the same thing. Someone — no one who would cop to it, but  _ someone  _ — took it upon themselves to liven up the Autobot’s Christmas gift exchange by hiding surprises in the wrapping. Christmas Eve would see the packages all left innocently under the tree in the rec room; then, somehow, they would all magically wind up tampered with by the time Christmas morning rolled around.

Unsurprisingly, it drove Red Alert absolutely bonkers. 

Everyone had their theories who was behind it, but no one had any proof. Not that that stopped them from speculating. Soundwave’s cassettes were the first to catch the blame, naturally. They were quickly exonerated, however. The booby traps were annoying, but they weren’t destructive enough to be the work of the ‘Cons. They were really just harmless gags. That meant an in-house perpetrator, which put all the resident pranksters all under suspicion. 

Sideswipe was easily ruled out for once, because he had been laid up in the medbay after a battle the first year it happened. That left the Dinobots (who lacked the necessary coordination), Ratchet and/or Wheeljack (who didn’t have the time, and only the booby traps that were  _ meant  _ to explode actually did), and Jazz — Jazz, the Ark’s resident super sneaky saboteur and five-star ninja extraordinaire — who swore it wasn’t him. Some mechs believed him at first, when there were other suspects still on the table. Some still believed him the second time it happened, claiming that his protests were too genuine for him to be the culprit. No one believed him anymore after the third time. 

And  _ that  _ drove  _ Jazz  _ absolutely bonkers.

It didn’t matter that no one had managed to catch the mech responsible (including the increasingly frustrated Red Alert). Jazz was determined to solve the mystery this year, or die trying. He was a mech on a mission!

“I’m surprised you aren’t simply enjoying the pranks,” Prowl said when Jazz announced his intentions. 

“I  _ was,  _ until people started pointin’ fingers at me!” Jazz huffed, every line of his frame radiating indignation. “I gotta figure out who it is and clear my good name!”

“‘Good’ name?”

“Well, for a given definition of ‘good’.” Jazz’s posture relaxed a bit. “Seriously though, I got a style when it comes to my gags, and those booby traps just don’t fit. Mark my words, Prowl — I’ll find out who’s responsible! And then,” a dangerous glint flashed across his visor, “I’ll show ‘em how it’s done.”

All the way up until Christmas morning, he didn’t appear to have any success. But as everyone began filing into the rec room, they were greeted by Jazz’s triumphant grin.

“You look awfully cheerful this morning,” Optimus said as he entered the room. The Prime was the first to wake and join Jazz beside the tree, other than the handful of mechs who’d already been up on the night shift. “Have you identified our mysterious prankster then?”

“Oh, I got ‘im alright, and I’ll get him too, if you know what I mean,” Jazz chuckled, reclining smugly on his oversized beanbag. “Just carry on as usual. I’ve got it  _ all  _ taken care of.”

He refused to say anything else about it, no matter how many times everyone asked or begged him to. Jazz held firm, insisting that yes, he knew who it was, and no, he wasn’t going to just say it. Where would the fun be in that? No, he insisted, presents first;  _ then  _ he would reveal all! Which, of course, just made everyone even more eager to open their gifts.

Everyone jumped when Bumblebee’s gift let out a loud squeal from an air horn concealed in the bow. Immediately they all turned to Jazz.

“I didn’t do it,” Jazz protested, raising his hands defensively. Still suspicious, they let it go… until the ribbon on Hound’s present tangled into a completely unmanageable snarl a moment later. “Really, I swear!” 

“Give it up, Jazz,” Sideswipe laughed. “You say that every year, but we all know it’s you.”

“Don’t start, Sideswipe,” Prowl interjected, stopping the argument threatening to take off between them. Jazz gave him a grateful smile and passed him the next present from under the tree. “Quite frankly, I would prefer it if we could all stop obsessing over who is responsible and just get on with Christmas.” He waited until SIdeswipe gave him a reluctant nod. “Good. Thank you.”

Then the box in his hands exploded. 

The room exploded too, in laughter, as a burst of festive red glitter flew up into Prowl’s face to rain down on his helm, hands, and shoulders. His impressive bumper caught a fair share of it as well, and some even managed to loft over his back to dust the edges of his doorwings. Prowl flapped them in an attempt to knock the glitter loose, but it stuck everywhere it landed and would not budge. Brushing at it didn’t do any good either, even with the rag Prowl brought out of his subspace to wipe at the reflective metallic flecks. 

Giving up on the rag after a few futile swipes, Prowl turned a (glittering!) glare on Jazz, who was laughing louder than everyone else. “Jazz…” 

“YES!” Jazz crowed, jumping up from his chair to do a victory dance. “THAT one I’ll claim responsibility for! Turnabount’s fair play after all, right Prowler?’ He pointed an accusing finger dead center at Prowl’s (dazzling!) red chevron. “You’ve been caught, red-and-sparkly-handed!  _ You’re  _ the one who’s been booby trapping the presents every slaggin’ year and lettin’ me take the fall for it — admit it!”

“Wait—”

“Prowl?”

“ _Prowl?!_ ”

“It was you all along?”

“How?!”

It took Optimus standing up and calling for quiet to get everyone to stop talking at once. “Is Jazz right?” he asked once they all calmed down. “Are you the one who’s been pulling these pranks?”

Prowl sat still and silent as a statue (a red, glitter-covered statue). Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Admit it,” he said, echoing Jazz’s words. “You never would have thought it was me.”


	8. Up On The Rooftop (TFA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 8: “I live below you and I was minding my own business watching the snowfall out the window WHEN I SAW A BODY FALL ARE YOU REALLY PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS LIGHTS NOW?!”_

It really was beautiful, Prowl thought, watching the snowflakes fall. The weatherman had said the snow would continue all night, and already his tree was sporting a fine dusting of the glistening white powder. There would probably be a thick coat on all of its branches by morning, and more than enough on the ground for Sari to build that snowman she’d been talking about non-stop.

Fortunately she, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead were all out for the afternoon. It was amazing what a difference their presence, or lack of it, made in the atmosphere (and noise level) of the old factory the Autobots called home. It was a difference Prowl appreciated. While he didn’t fault them their energetic enjoyment of the winter weather, he preferred sitting quietly with a warm tin of smooth oil, watching the world slowly transform before his optics.

Let the others make fun of him all they wanted for his love of nature. There was nothing like the wonders on this planet back on Cybertron. Precipitation there was destructive; here, it enhanced the environment, rather than damaging it. It truly was a marvel. Prowl could be content watching it snow for hours.

He hadn’t been watching anywhere near that long, however, when something much larger than a snowflake fell past the window he was looking through with a heavy  _ THUD! _

“Jazz!” Prowl set down his cooling oil and rushed to the door, pulling it open hurriedly. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Right as rain! Or snow, in this case,” Jazz replied, shaking himself as he stood to dislodge the snow wedged in his plating. “Didn’t mean to slip like that. Kinda embarrassin’, huh?”

“Nevermind that.” Not even a ninja could be expected to be perfectly graceful 100% of the time, especially if they were traipsing around on… “What were you doing on the roof? It’s snowing. There’s bound to be ice up there.”

“Oh, believe me, there is,” Jazz said with a laugh. “I found a nice big patch of it just before I came tumbling down over the gutters.” Luckily he didn’t seem to have taken any injuries, either to his frame, or to his pride.

Still. “Why were you up on the roof in the first place?” Prowl asked again, then frowned when he spotted the coil of green wire looped over Jazz’s arm. “Wait. Were you putting up Christmas lights? Now?”

“Why not now?” Jazz countered, checking the string of lights for broken bulbs from the fall. “It’s the perfect time to put ‘em up! The snow can fall on top of ‘em where they’ll glow nice and soft.”

“Unless you fall again nice and  _ hard _ and crack your helm.” Prowl walked up to Jazz and held out his hand for the lights. “I have a better idea. One that  _ won’t  _ endanger your plating on a slippery rooftop.”

“Relax, I know where the ice is now. I’ll be fine!” Jazz stepped back, preparing to launch himself back up onto the roof, then hissed in pain as he brought his weight down on his back foot. “Ow. Or not. When did that happen?”

“I’m going to hazard a guess and say it happened just now, when you _fell off the roof.”_ Prowl stepped forward again, this time coming around beside Jazz to put his arm around the mech’s waist to support him. “Come on. We’re going inside.”

“It’s just a twisted cable,” Jazz protested. “I don’t need to see Ratchet for this! Besides, what about the lights?”

“I’m not taking you to see Ratchet, but you still need to sit down,” Prowl said, steering Jazz back inside. “And I told you, I have an idea for the lights. Trust me.”

He left Jazz on the couch in front of the window to deal with his foot, taking the lights away from the injured ninja so he could put his plan into action. “No peeking,” Prowl said, wanting it to be a surprise. He wasn’t entirely sure Jazz would cooperate (Sari or Bumblebee would have peeked, for sure), but, surprisingly, he did. Jazz deliberately powered down his visor, waiting patiently while Prowl outlined every window and doorframe in the room with the lights.

“Okay,” he said, turning off the overhead so the Christmas lights were the only illumination in the room. “You can look now.”

Jazz’s visor lit back up, adding its blue glow to the peaceful ambiance. “Oh, wow.” He sat up straighter on the couch, turning his head back and forth to take in Prowl’s work. “That’s really beautiful.”

“And not hazardous to put up or take down,” Prowl smiled teasingly. A moment later he joined Jazz on the couch, two newly-warmed mugs in his hands. “Here,” he offered. “Let’s watch together.”

Jazz smiled back as he took the oil, wrapping both hands around it to soak in the warmth. “You were right,” he said, settling back against the cushions. Prowl didn’t protest when he pulled him in a little bit closer to lean against his side. “This was a good idea.”

Outside, the snow continued to fall. The two Autobots sat together in comfortable silence, enjoying the view, the hot oil, and each other’s company.


	9. Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 1 (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 9: I KNITTED YOU A JUMPER_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 1: Change of Plans (human AU) ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/19987855)

The complaints had started as soon as the temperature began to drop outside.

“It’s gettin’ kinda chilly in here.”

“I feel a draft. You feel a draft? I think there’s a draft.”

“Man, it’s freezing right here by the window!”

Prowl, who also sat beside a large (and very cold) window, had taken care of the problem quietly, without bothering everyone in the office. The solution was really quite simple: they weren’t allowed to have heaters at their desks — fire hazard, management said, and they could overload the circuit if everyone was using them — but there was nothing in the company dress code against adding layers. With a nice, cozy sweater over his buttondown shirt, Prowl was perfectly warm and comfortable. Why couldn’t Jazz just shut up and do the same?

“C’mon, I can see my breath over here! Someone crank up the heat already!”

Maybe he had something against sweaters. Prowl looked down at his beige cabled jumper, remembering the “Lookin’ sharp there, Grandpa!” Jazz had thrown his way the first day he’d worn it in earlier that week. A bit harsh, Prowl felt, since he’d passed over several sweaters more dated than it at the store when he’d bought it (even if that had been five… or six… years ago). It was, however, a very typically  _ Jazz  _ thing to say, so Prowl had brushed it off without taking offense. Mostly.

“What do they expect us to do, exercise at our desks to keep warm?”

In fairness, Prowl got along much better with Jazz these days than he had before their inadvertent Christmas-during-the-blizzard together at Jazz’s apartment last year. He still would have preferred to have spent the time with his family than with his oft-errant coworker, but Jazz hadn’t been all that bad of company, surprisingly. In the aftermath of the holiday, they had agreed to make a concerted effort to stop antagonizing each other so much.

_ thmmpJINGLE! thmmpJANGLE! thmmpJINGLE! thmmpJANGLE! _

Looked like Jazz was forgetting that promise.

“Jazz! Knock it off!” Prowl snapped, whirling around in his chair to look over at the corner of the room where Jazz had noisily started doing jumping jacks. The thudding of his shoes and the jingling of the chain in his pocket were wearing on his last nerve. “Just put your coat back on and be quiet so we can all get some work done!”

“But then—”  _ thmmpJINGLE! _ “—I’ll be—”  _ thmmpJANGLE!  _ “—too hot!” Jazz stopped jumping. “You can’t wear a parka inside, Prowl. Not unless you want to boil instead of freeze!”

“How about dying instead of living?” Prowl ground out through gritted teeth. “Keep it up, and I might just come over there and murder you.”

“Aww, you’re so thoughtful of my well-being,” Jazz laughed, completely unphased by Prowl’s irritated growling. “Seriously. I’m touched.”

“Touched in the head,” Prowl muttered, turning back to his work. As long as Jazz didn’t start up with the jumping jacks again, maybe he could manage to ignore him.

“I heard that.” Jazz flopped back down in his chair. Prowl imagined him sticking his tongue out at him and pouting at his paperwork. “Fine. In the interest of saving you from being brought up on criminal charges, I will sit here and freeze to death in silence.”

“Thank you,” Prowl sighed under his breath, hoping that would be the end of it.

Luckily, it was. Jazz remained quiet and undisruptive for the remainder of the day, though he made a point as he passed Prowl’s desk on his way out that he’d still been freezing the whole time, thank you very much. Prowl would insist that it was the sarcasm in that remark, not any kind of concern for Jazz’ comfort, that prompted him to stop at the store on his way home.

Prowl prowled through rack after rack of winter wear, searching for a sweater to get for Jazz. One after another he rejected them all; one was too plain, another too itchy… none of them were what he wanted. He was about ready to give up and just go home when he rounded a circular rack of brightly colored puffed jackets and came face to face with the  _ perfect  _ sweater. Grabbing one in Jazz’s size, he brought his find to the register with a smile.

As usual, Prowl was in before Jazz to the office the next morning. He left the sweater on Jazz’s chair, then went back to his own. He didn’t have to wait too long.

“Mornin’, Prowl!” Jazz slapped a hand down on the corner of Prowl’s desk as he waltzed by. “Workin’ hard, or hardly workin’?”

Prowl reached out to steady his coffee out of habit. “Working,” he answered shortly. “As you should be.”

“It’s still early! I got time.” 

Prowl didn’t answer. He was busy fighting to keep the grin off his face as Jazz’s bright footsteps slowed when he reached his desk. “Okay — what the heck is this monstrosity and what is it doin’ on my chair?”

“You said you were cold yesterday.” Prowl was pleased that he managed to keep his voice even. Forcing his face into a neutral expression, he looked back at Jazz. “I thought it would be nice to do something to help you keep warm.”

“And this’s what you decided to go with?” Jazz lifted the sweater up and held it in front of him like he was afraid of catching something from it. A cheerful holiday moose face stared back at Prowl from the front of the bright blue sweater, the red, sequined ribbon around its neck glittering in the harsh overhead lights. More ribbon-and-sequin-ornaments — no bells; Prowl wasn’t giving Jazz anything that could make noise — festooned its antlers, and the ‘sky’ around it was covered with white crochet-bobble ‘snowflakes’. “Prowl, it’s  _ hideous!  _ Where did you even find this?”

“I made it.”

Jazz’s mouth fell open, completely flabbergasted. “You — no. No  _ way  _ you knitted a sweater overnight, much less one this tacky.”

“You’re hurting my feelings,” Prowl deadpanned, but then his composure cracked. “All right, I didn’t make it, I bought it.” He chuckled, the sweater looking every bit as ridiculous in Jazz’s hands as it had in the store. “Merry early Christmas. Now shut up and wear it.”

Jazz stared blankly at Prowl for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Hahaha! Shut up and wear it!” He collapsed into his chair, leaning back as he kept on giggling. “Shut up and… you know, that ain’t a very nice thing to say, Prowl. I thought we were bein’ nice to each other.”

“We are. I was nice and got you a thoughtful gift. You’re the one who isn’t being nice and appreciating it.”

“Oh-ho! We’ll just see about that!” In one fluid motion, Jazz pulled the sweater on over his head. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the moose’s face, then struck a pose in his chair. “Who’s not appreciative now?”

“No one.” Prowl’s grin softened into an actual smile. “You know, it really kind of suits you.”

“It does?” Jazz looked down at himself, playing with one of the crochet bobbles. “Huh.”

“You’re welcome.” Prowl turned back to his coffee and left Jazz to amuse himself with the ‘hideous’ sweater. A hideous sweater that he continued to wear throughout the day, and kept in his desk drawer the rest of the winter to put on whenever he started feeling cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 10: Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 2 (Human AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20194741)


	10. Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 2 (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 10: MY MOM KNITTED YOU A JUMPER_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 9: Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 1 (Human AU)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20174674)

No good deed went unpunished. It was a well-known law of the universe. Why Prowl had thought he could flaunt it was beyond him. Clearly, he should have thought further ahead when buying that hideous sweater for Jazz.

When Jazz had continued to wear the thing almost every day, the office had decided to hold an ugly sweater competition, complete with prizes for the worst dressed department. Soon everyone was trotting out their best examples of bad taste, and Prowl could hardly look up from his desk without seeing some new horror surmounted by a coworker’s smiling face. Worst of all, suddenly his own sweater, which Jazz had made fun of for being ugly and old fashioned before, wasn’t ugly  _ enough. _

“Come on, you gotta have somethin’ worse than that!” Jazz pleaded with him, hovering as Prowl was trying to refill his coffee cup. “Don’t you want to represent the department in the worst possible light?”

“That would be the exact opposite of what I usually try for,” Prowl grumbled as he reset the Keurig to make the coffee the way he liked it. “I’ll find something in time for the office party, okay? That’s the only time it will matter.”

“Well, yeah, the only time it’ll matter for the contest.” Jazz handed over the K-Cup he’d swiped before Prowl could demand its return, then jabbed a finger at the plain beige cabled jumper Prowl was wearing. “But you’re not doin’ much to contribute to the team spirit right now with that!”

“I’m wearing the sweater that started the whole thing. That ought to count for something.”

“Nooo, I’m wearing the sweater that started the whole thing.” The happy holiday moose on Jazz’s be-dazzled and be-bobbled sweater intruded on Prowl’s vision as Jazz puffed out his chest. “It’s still the worst one, too. You shoulda  _ heard _ my brother laughing when he saw it over Skype!”

“It being laughable was certainly the goal, since technically I got you that sweater because you made fun of this one,” Prowl corrected him, taking his coffee and starting back toward his desk.

“And because I wouldn’t shut up about being cold,” Jazz reminded him helpfully.

“Yes. And that.”

“Soooo… what if I promise to shut up again if you find an uglier sweater?”

Prowl stopped dead in his tracks and fixed Jazz with an icy stare. “Don’t even try it. I will find an appropriately ugly sweater for the party, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aww, you’re no fun, you know that?” But Jazz relented. “Fine. If you’re only going to wear an ugly sweater one time, wear it to the party. I’ll quit pesterin’ you about what you wear to work.”

And he really did leave Prowl alone about it — right up until the night of the office party a week later. Everyone was getting ready to head over to the bar down the street they had chosen as their location, which meant that Prowl needed to switch to his (uglier) ugly sweater. He’d just pulled the bag he’d stuffed it in out of his desk drawer when he heard Jazz calling for his attention.

“Psst! Prowl! C’mere!”

Prowl turned and saw Jazz waving excitedly at him from his desk. “What is it? I need to get changed, Jazz. It’s almost time to leave.”

“I know! That’s why you need to come over here.” Jazz was, of course, already wearing his sweater. He’d even gone so far as to add felt antlers on top of his head and a red bow around his neck to match the one the moose on his front was sporting. “I brought you something.”

“You did?” Well that sounded ominous. Reluctantly, Prowl got up, leaving the bag behind. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Jazz said, grinning up at Prowl like he was expecting him to argue. Prowl just gave him a  _ look.  _ “Okay, forget closing your eyes. Here.” He produced a large shirt box from beneath his desk. “This is for you.”

Prowl took the box cautiously. It was fairly lightweight, and lifting the lid revealed why. Sitting atop a nest of brightly colored tissue paper was an equally bright mass of yarn Prowl could only assume was a sweater. He put the box on the corner of Jazz’s desk and gingerly lifted it out. Yes, it was a sweater; there were the sleeves, each a different color from the body and from each other. One had some sort of raised stitch in fuzzy, glittery yarn to imitate garland winding up from the wrist to the shoulder, while the other had the same raised stitch in plain green yarn shot through with plastic beads representing Christmas lights. The front of the sweater combined the two with even more beads and bobbles in a big green Christmas tree, topped with a garish yellow star.

“You have got to be kidding,” Prowl said, unable to stop himself. “Please tell me you don’t actually expect me to wear this.”

“Oh, you’ll do more than wear it.” Jazz’s sly smirk was made of pure evil. “I expect you to keep it! You wouldn’t want to hurt my mama’s feelings by rejecting the sweater she knitted just for you now, would you?”

“...” 

Prowl couldn’t even begin to formulate a response to that. Jazz took advantage of his stunned silence to reach over and begin divesting him of his regular sweater.

“Wh— hey! Mmph! What are you—?!”

“Helping,” Jazz said, ignoring Prowl’s muffled protests. No sooner had he gotten the one sweater off than he was maneuvering Prowl into the second, and Prowl couldn’t manage a coordinated enough resistance to stop him. “Ta da~!” he sang out, then had to stifle a laugh. “You look ridiculous.”

“Thank you. I was unaware.” Prowl glared down at the garment he’d just been forced into. “Your mother didn’t really knit this for me, did she?”

“Yes and no,” Jazz admitted, dropping Prowl’s beige sweater into the box the Christmas sweater had been in before replacing it under his desk. “She knitted it a couple of years ago for me, actually. Rico’s the one suggested I make, er,  _ let,  _ you wear it for the party.”

“Then,” Prowl said hesitantly, “I don’t have to keep it?”

“Well, you don’t have to if you really don’t want to. But I did mean it as a gift.” Jazz’s voice softened, and Prowl could have sworn that was hope in his eyes as he said, “Merry Christmas?”

“Jazz…”  Prowl’s irritation melted away into confusion. Why would Jazz give him something so personal? Unless he just wanted to get rid of it; the thing really was terrifically ugly. But it surely also had a great deal of sentimental value, which was something Prowl knew was important to Jazz. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Jazz said, his smile brightening when Prowl didn’t outright reject it. “Only fair I give you something in exchange for your incredibly thoughtful gift!” 

He really believed that, Prowl realized, looking at him. His tone was light, but Jazz really did think of the ugly moose sweater as a thoughtful gift. Something worth a very personal gift in return. Prowl wanted to argue, to insist that a handmade item crafted specifically for him with love by a family member couldn’t possibly compare to a coworker’s impulse buy from a department store, but he couldn’t get the words out past the sudden lump in his throat.

“Hey.” Jazz reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, his face showing a hint of concern. “You okay there? You’ve gone all quiet.”

“My family usually just gives each other gift cards.” 

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, and it didn’t really answer Jazz’s question, but Jazz was still smiling. “You’re welcome,” he said, giving Prowl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now come on! We’ve got a party to get to, and a contest to win. Between the two of us, we’ve got it in the bag.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 18: Nothing to Blame It On (Human AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20385154)


	11. Passing Time (TFP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 11: “We’re strictly ‘platonic’ but we’re snowed in omg we’re gonna have to repopulate the earth”_

“Hnn… who…?” Prowl blinked slowly as he woke up, bringing the blurry shape beside him into focus. “Jazz?”

“Hey, Prowler.” Jazz’s visor, previously glowing dimly, brightened at his name. “How’re you feeling?”

“Feeling?” He could feel Jazz holding his hand. Not much else. “I don’t… did something happen?”

“You could say that.” Jazz’s fingers tightened on his. “Shuttle crashed. We’re buried beneath several dozen feet of ice and snow.”

“Ice and…” Prowl’s processor finished struggling through its boot-up protocols, spitting out a laundry list of damage reports a mile long. “We landed on one of the poles.”

“I sent out a beacon.” Jazz shrugged, his movements cramped and stiff in the small space. “Could be awhile before anyone picks it up though.”

“And no guarantee  _ who  _ will pick it up.” Assuming they’d made it to the right planet, after their shuttle was damaged coming through the asteroid belt, there was every chance the Decepticons would find them first. They didn’t have the ability to send a cloaked signal. “Is there any way for us to get out and observe whoever comes to investigate the wreckage?”

“Nope. There’s a blizzard goin’ on outside, with winds and temperatures that’d freeze us solid in minutes without shelter, even if you weren’t so badly damaged. We’re snowed in till someone comes to dig us out.”

“I’m not  _ that  _ badly damaged,” Prowl protested, trying to sit up. Jazz reached over and held him down with a single hand on his shoulder. Surprised by his own weakness, Prowl started sifting through his damage reports, searching for the cause. “I’m really not,” he said a moment later. “My hydraulics aren’t functioning at their full capacity, but actual damage to them is minimal.”

“I know.” Jazz’s grin was a little bit crooked. “Most of your hydraulic fluid’s on the floor. Ain’t got enough left in you to maintain pressure.”

“I can still move,” Prowl started to argue, trying again to get up. Jazz just continued to hold him down. “Or I could, if you would allow me to.”

“Don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Jazz told him. “Wouldn’t want any of the patches I had to slap on coming loose.”

“Ah.” In that case, they really were just going to have to wait for rescue… or capture. “What shall we do until we’re found then?”

“We~ell…” Jazz pretended to think for a moment, trying and failing to hide his signature smirk. “We could always repopulate the planet.”

Prowl’s vents whirred weakly as he chuckled. “I was thinking something a little less strenuous, Jazz. I'm hurt, remember?”

“Spoilsport,” Jazz laughed with him. “Another time then?”

“I don’t do casual interfacing,” Prowl reminded his friend, “and you don’t do relationships.”

“So?” Jazz settled back against the bowed side of the shuttle, preparing to wait out the storm. “Someday one of us might change our minds.”

“Never happen.”

“Never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 21: Skipping The Bunny Hill (TFP)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20472721)


	12. Slippery Footing (G1 pre-war)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 12: “I slipped on ice outside your house and you ran out barefoot to help me quick let’s get inside under a blanket”_

Jazz never cleared the path leading up to his front door in winter. What was the point? He never used it. It was so much more convenient to come in the back from the alley. All of his friends knew to use the alternate entrance too, which meant that was the only one Jazz really needed to shovel and salt to keep snow- and ice-free.

It looked like laziness to his neighbors, but it was actually a calculated decision on Jazz’s part: there was an obscure paragraph in the local legislature that stated homeowners were liable for damage to visitors that occurred on their property. That included injuries from slipping and falling on ice or snow,  _ unless  _ no attempts were made to clear a path. Anyone who took their chances on a completely unswept path assumed responsibility for themselves with their actions, letting the homeowner (Jazz) off the hook for their repair bills (and stupidity).

The city of Iacon took care of clearing the public streets, of course. The road that ran along the subdivision Jazz had moved into was kept nice and neat, treated so that frost wouldn’t form on it and plowed when necessary by a standing fleet of mechs (Polyhex hadn’t needed to do more than occasionally spot-hire mechs for plowing, with most of the city underground). But unlike Polyhex, where the public streets ran right up to people’s doors in most cases, in Iacon buildings stood just far enough back on their lots to have short, private walkways that were the owner’s responsibility to clear. 

Or not, in Jazz’s case. He didn’t see any reason to bother, only a fairly compelling reason why he shouldn’t. Not that it was likely there were that many mechs who a: knew about that particular bit of legislative idiocy, and b: would be obnoxious enough to stick Jazz with the cost of popping out their dents. But why open himself up to the possibility? If someone wanted to get to his front door that badly, let it be on them.

Then someone actually  _ did  _ slip in front of his house, and suddenly Jazz didn’t feel so superior anymore.

_ WhumpCRASH! _

“Primus!” Jazz had been picking up in the front room after a wonderfully fun evening when he heard the noise outside. He rushed to the door and pulled it open, running out onto the slick path without a second thought. “Hey! Are you okay?”

“I believe so,” came the slightly shaky reply from the tangle of limbs on the ground. Jazz recognized him as the mech managed to right himself — it was Prowl, one of the officers Jazz ran into from time to time working at the club. “Good morning, Jazz.”

“Hi. What’s goin’ on?” Jazz asked, helping Prowl to his feet. They’d only spoken a couple of times, and while they’d been pleasant conversations, Jazz couldn’t think of a single reason for Prowl to have looked up his address and shown up at his house. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, you’re not. I’m merely conducting interviews along the block regarding a robbery last night.” Prowl brushed some snow from his winter cloak, then looked at Jazz. “You must be freezing!”

“I’m fine,” Jazz said, though he did feel rather cold now that Prowl had pointed it out. He hadn’t bothered to grab his own cloak or even a tarp in his hurry, and his natural armor wasn’t as thick and insulating as the officer’s reinforced plating in root mode. “What robbery?”

“You shouldn’t be out in this.” Prowl began steering Jazz back toward his house, ignoring the scrapes and dents in his own frame. They staggered the rest of the way over the ice to the open door, which Prowl immediately pulled closed behind them against the cold once they were inside. “Here,” he said, snagging a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping Jazz in it. “You need to warm up.”

“I need to — what about you? You’re the one who slipped on the ice!” Jazz tried to insist that he should be making sure Prowl was alright, but Prowl already had him too well bundled up in the blanket. He was peremptorily settled onto the couch and tucked in snug and warm, regardless of his protests. “I’m  _ fine,  _ Prowl. You’re overreactin’.”

“It was my fault you ran out into the cold unprepared,” Prowl argued, though he finally stopped fussing with the blanket.

“You fell outside my house!” Jazz felt rather acutely embarrassed about the state of the path now. “I had to see if you were okay.”

“Well, I am, so don’t worry about it.”

“And so am I, so quit hoverin’.”

They paused, looking at each other for a moment in silence, then both started to laugh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so pushy,” Prowl apologized. He stepped back and found a chair to sit down in, still chuckling softly. “I was concerned for you.”

“Well, I was concerned for you.” Jazz ducked his head down into the blanket to smother his giggles, and hide his embarrassment. “I’m sorry the path was so icy.”

“Perhaps you should do a better job of maintaining it,” Prowl suggested, a glimmer in his optics hinting that he knew full well that Jazz hadn’t even attempted any such thing.

“Maybe I should,” Jazz allowed. And maybe he would. Maybe. “So, what’s this about a robbery?” he asked, changing the subject. “What’d you need to interview me for?”

“We believe the suspect escaped down this street.” With one last smile, Prowl’s professional demeanor reasserted itself. “The neighbor I just spoke to said you were throwing a party last night. I was hoping you or one of your guests might have seen something that can help us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy as it sounds, I did not make up that law just for the sake of this story — that really is why my aunt never cleared her front porch or the steps leading up to it when I was a kid. Lucky the mailbox wasn’t by the front door, or that might not have worked out so well XD


	13. It’s a Wonderful Lie (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 13: “It’s a wonderful life’ aww it sounds so cute babe sure we can watch it! *30 mins later* “YOU MONSTER”_

“Come on, it’s a classic, Prowl!” Jazz waved the vid disc he’d brought with him in Prowl’s face distractingly. “One of the most popular films there is ‘round this time of year! Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it before?”

“All right,” Prowl said blandly, ignoring his mate’s typical antics. He was being surprisingly persistent today; his wasn’t his first time coming in to try to drag Prowl away from his work. “I won’t tell you.” 

Silence. Jazz was either pouting, or smothering laughter. Prowl didn’t bother looking up to find out which, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Jazz started talking again either way. Any second now… 

“Okay, so you’ve never seen it.” Right on cue. Prowl smothered his own laughter behind his computer screen. “That just means you need to watch it with me even more!”

“Jazz, I don’t really enjoy Christmas specials,” Prowl reminded him. “Can’t you find someone else to watch it with you?”

“But it’s not a special! Weren’t you listening when I came in?” Jazz threw his head back in a dramatic sigh. “It’s ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’! You know, the movie?”

“I thought I had established that I do _not,_ in fact, know,” Prowl replied, though he finally paused what he was doing to meet Jazz’s optics. Animated productions didn’t hold much appeal for him, but there were several Hollywood films he had seen and liked in the past. “A regular movie?”

“Yup! With actors and everything!” Jazz smiled, sensing victory. “It’s highly acclaimed and was nominated for several awards. It’s not even really all that long.”

“Define, ‘not really all that long’,” Prowl said suspiciously, already looking up the runtime of the film. 

“Just over two hours,” both Jazz and his searches answered simultaneously. Well. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad after all… “So? What do you say? Take a break, watch a movie… cuddle with me on the couch…” 

“I should have known the movie wasn’t your real angle,” Prowl chuckled. Now Jazz’s persistence made sense. If he was feeling cuddle-deprived, then Prowl really wouldn’t be able to get rid of him for good short of breaking down and indulging him for awhile. Not exactly a hardship unless he had a lot of work to do, which he didn’t right now. Not so much that one two-hour break would cause him to fall behind, anyway. “What brought this on?”

“Nothin’ special. I just want to spend some time with you.” Jazz set down the vid to bring his hands together pleadingly in front of his bumper. “Pleeeeease?”

Hard to say no to that. “All right,” Prowl conceded, picking up the disc. “It does sound like it might be good.”

“Yes!” Jazz leapt over the desk to grab Prowl’s free hand and start pulling him over to the door. “You’re gonna love it!”

Thirty minutes into the film, Prowl begged to differ.

“Jazz?” he said, voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah, Prowler?”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Jazz laughed. “I could always put on something else…” he offered, starting to pull away from where he was snuggled against Prowl’s side on the couch like he was going to get up and change the vid.

“Don’t you dare.” Prowl pulled him back down, pinning him in place with his arm. “You started this. Now we have to see it through to the end.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Jazz reassured him, smiling at Prowl’s riveted expression. His optics, sparkling with emotion, were fixed on the screen where the movie played on. “It’s a good one.”


	14. Softly Falling (Bayverse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 14: “We were playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me to the ground and now… we’re just… staring… at each other…”_

Prowl arrived on Earth much sooner than anyone expected after Optimus Prime sent his message. The Autobot’s premier tactician was supposed to be nearly halfway across the galaxy, a distance that would have taken decades to cross. Yet there he was, stepping out of the newly-landed shuttle less than a year after the call went out.

“Welcome to Earth, Prowl,” Optimus greeted his long-time friend. “I hope that your journey was a safe one.”

“His journey must’ve broken a few interstellar speed limits,” Ironhide laughed. “How’d you manage to get here so fast?”

“Simple: by not being very far away. I had Blaster’s help in disguising both our locations; he was two of this planet’s rotational cycles behind me when my communications shut down for atmospheric reentry.” Prowl’s optics scanned the assembled welcoming committee, spiralling in a brief assessment of each of them. “You appear to be doing well here.”

“We could be doing better,” Ratchet grumbled, but there wasn’t much bite behind his bark. The lack of active combat sending freshly repaired mechs back to his operating tables had done wonders for the worn-out medic’s temper, even if they didn’t have all the resources they would need to recover fully from millennia of war yet. “You’re probably in worse shape than any of us though, after being out there on your own for so long.”

“Which is, of course, why you are here,” Prowl nodded. “I’ve kept a log of injuries and errors. I would appreciate your help in setting them to rights.” His stiff demeanor and posture started to relax as he continued, his voice finally beginning to show hints of his exhaustion. “My T-cog is non-functional,” he admitted apologetically. “If the base is not nearby, I will need assistance reaching it.”

“Like I’d let you drive before I got a good look at you,” Ratchet snorted, transforming into alt mode with his ambulance bay doors open. “Get in and we’ll be on our way.”

“Don’t worry about the shuttle,” Ironhide said before Prowl could ask. “We’ll take care of it. You go take care of yourself.”

“I expect you to give Ratchet your full cooperation.” Optimus placed a gentle hand on Prowl’s shoulder. “It is good to see you again.”

Prowl gave Optimus a tired smile. “Likewise.”

“All right, catch up later you two,” Ratchet cut in, waving one of his doors imperiously. “Let’s go. I need to get back to the medbay before  _ someone  _ decides to try to sneak out again. Almost getting himself killed in the last battle wasn’t enough for the little glitch, oh no! He just has to keep tempting fate. If I had the equipment, I’d magnetize him to the berth.”

“That,” Prowl said with a smirk as he settled back into Ratchet’s ambulance bay for the ride home, “sounds suspiciously like Jazz.”

Ratchet didn’t even bother confirming his guess. There was no need. “Maybe having you for a bunkmate will stop him from driving me out of my processor with his boredom.”

***

Just as Ratchet had intimated, Jazz proved to be an extremely restless roommate. That didn’t surprise Prowl in the slightest, even after he learned just how Jazz had acquired his most recent set of injuries… and how close he had come to not surviving them. Jazz was  _ Jazz,  _ and not even being torn literally in half was enough to keep him down for long — especially when there were so many more fun things he could be doing (and trying to drag Prowl into doing!) instead.

“Jazz, I’m tired,” Prowl protested when the small silver minibot appeared at his berthside, miraculously free of the liberal number of cargo straps Ratchet had used to ‘secure’ him that morning. It was only a week after his landing on Earth, and Ratchet had only really just begun on his repairs. Even though he’d managed to avoid most of the physical battlefields, Prowl had been running so close to his limits trying to keep everyone alive that he’d almost worn himself down into stasis lock. Ratchet was insisting on buffing him up before putting him through the rigors of reconstruction, now that they finally had the luxury of such things as  _ time,  _ and while Prowl was beginning to feel a little better, he still had a long way to go. 

“You’re always tired,” Jazz complained light-heartedly, hopping up on the edge of the berth beside Prowl. For all his bravado, he wasn’t able to stay on his feet for very long himself yet. His main spinal strut and other support structures still had a lot of healing to do before he could fully support his own weight. “Doesn’t mean ya have to be boring, too.”

“I am the poster-bot for boring.” Prowl inched a little bit to the side, giving Jazz room to lie down beside him. “I can’t do anything fun. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Right, no fun and no sense of humor, that’s you.” Jazz took advantage of the extra space and cuddled up next to Prowl, his normally silent systems straining from the exertion of walking across the medbay. “Ya do know the war’s over, right?”

“So I’d heard.” Prowl looked up at the large window at the end of the hangar-like building they were occupying. The flat, slate-gray sky outside matched the state of his optimism.

“Don’t believe it?”

“Do you?” Prowl turned his head to meet Jazz’s visor. He’d known the mech at his side,  _ fought  _ at his side, for thousands of years. Neither of them was the type to believe anything that seemed too good to be true that easily.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, sharing a look that spoke volumes without a single word. 

Then Jazz sighed and turned away, looking out the window. “Still bored,” he complained again. “Don’t like bein’ cooped up inside all the time, not able ta move around.”

He didn’t like feeling trapped and helpless, Prowl translated. A feeling he could understand all too well. Gently, Prowl reached down and took Jazz’s hand, offering silent support as they lay and watched the sky through dirt-streaked glass.

“Oh!” Jazz exclaimed several minutes later. “Look! It’s snowing!”

“Snow?” Prowl refocused his optics until he could see the tiny white flakes. “Ah. So it is.” He’d seen the piles on the ground from previous snowfalls when he’d first climbed down from Ratchet’s alt mode, but other than the novelty of it being neither colorful nor acidic, Prowl hadn’t given it much thought. “Is that special?”

“It’s  _ fun!”  _ And suddenly Jazz was rolling off the side of the berth, tugging on the hand still clasped tightly in his. “Come on, please? You gotta see this!”

This time Prowl allowed Jazz to tow him off the berth, afraid the smaller mech would hurt himself trying to get him to move. There was a stronger downward pull on his arm than a forward one as Jazz used Prowl more to hold himself up rather than leading him to the door. It made Prowl want to pick him up and carry him back to the berth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not with the joyful excitement in Jazz’s EM field swirling around them both like the snowflakes outside.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jazz let go of Prowl, stepping out into the snow and twirling to face him. For a second he looked completely healthy, his visor as bright as his field, both glowing with happiness. “And it’s totally safe! It’s just water. Only thing that it builds up in your joints is ice, and that melts when you go back inside.”

“Ice in your joints can still hurt,” Prowl commented, but he wasn’t really trying to argue. It was refreshingly cold outside, with very little wind to make the chill bite through chinks in his plating. And Jazz was right: the new layer of snow forming a thick, clean blanket over everything was beautiful.

“Then just don’t stay out in it too long. Mech smart as you oughta be able to figure that out on his own,” Jazz teased. He took another couple of steps, dancing with the softly falling snow. “Know what the humans do, when it’s snowing like this?”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Prowl answered, keeping a careful optic out for ice patches beneath Jazz’s feet. “Just as I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Gee, it’s like you know me or something.” Jazz threw his head back, letting some of the flakes land and melt on his face. “Actually they do lots of things. They build snowmen, have snowball fights… make snow angels.”

“What?” Prowl frowned, not understanding. Snowmen and snowball fights he could guess the meaning of, but what in Primus’ name was a snow angel?

“Snow angels!” Jazz repeated, as though saying the word again explained everything. “Like this.”

“Jazz!” Prowl darted forward as Jazz suddenly fell backward toward one of the snow drifts along the side of the medbay hangar, only to slip on a patch of black ice buried in the snow. He tumbled forward and nearly came down on top of Jazz, who had landed harmlessly in the snow.

“Hi!” Jazz laughed, looking up at Prowl from between the larger mech’s braced arms. “What was that for?”

“I…” Prowl stalled, feeling embarrassed.  _ I was trying to catch you. _ But Jazz wouldn’t appreciate Prowl worrying over him like that, even if he could use it. He never had. “It’s slippery. I slipped.”

“Suuure,” Jazz drawled. Fortunately he didn’t seem to be offended, even if he obviously didn’t believe Prowl’s evasion. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine.” Prowl gave himself a mental shake, then pushed himself back to his feet. “I’m fine.”

“Good!” Jazz somehow managed to jump to his feet as soon as Prowl was standing, leaping at him to tackle him right back into the snow. “Oof!”

“Jazz!” Prowl exclaimed again as Jazz landed on him. “What in the name of—?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jazz pulled himself up Prowl’s frame to look him in the optics. “I’m playin’ in the snow!”

“Playing…” Prowl stared up at Jazz, frost forming on the tips of his finials and snow falling past his face. His smiling, happy, relaxed face. When was the last time any of them had been able to just  _ play? _

The moment stretched out between them.

What else might there be room for, in a world without war?

“Is it really over?” Jazz whispered, his face mere inches from Prowl’s.

Surrounded by the ice and snow, Prowl felt something long frozen inside him begin the painful process of thawing.

“I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 23: Small Comforts (Bayverse)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20525347)


	15. Experiments in the Kitchen (IDW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 15: “YOU DON’T LIKE MARSHMALLOWS IN YOUR HOT CHOCOLATE? WHY DO YOU HATE LOVE?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 4: Crimes in the Kitchen (IDW)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20060446)

One of these days Prowl was going to have to put a stop to this. He’d wind up poisoned if he didn’t. He just knew it.

“Well?” Jazz asked hopefully, rocking on his heels. “What do you think?”

Prowl struggled to find something, anything, to say about the unidentifiable, semi-solid substance he’d just been presented with. When he’d offered to teach his neighbor how to cook, he hadn’t meant to become the guinea pig for his kitchen experiments. 

“I’m… at a loss for words,” he finally admitted after a long examination of the cube and its contents. “What, exactly, am I looking at?”

“Hot alkaloid slurry!” Jazz answered, an unspoken  _ ‘duh’  _ hanging at the end of his sentence. “It’s traditional this time of year. You know, for the festival? Don’t tell me you’ve never had one before!”

“Not like this, I haven’t,” Prowl said with a grimace. Hot alkaloid slurries  _ were  _ common around the winter solstice and the associated festivities, but the concoctions he was familiar with were all blended smooth for a uniform consistency and color. Not — not this marbled, bubbled, partially burnt  _ mass. _ The surface of it actually  _ jiggled,  _ floating on the liquid underneath, and it looked like Jazz had used a blowtorch on it.  _ Unevenly.  _ The result was so thoroughly unappetizing Prowl wasn’t even sure if it was safe to consume. It didn’t really matter what Jazz called it, or what he’d intended to create. 

“Aww, come on,” Jazz pouted as Prowl continued to stare, making no move to taste the vile brew. “You haven’t even tried it yet! You never know — you might like it!”

“I  _ do _ like alkaloid slurries,” Prowl protested, “and the bottom,  _ liquid _ half of this looks almost right.” That at least he could give Jazz. But— “What I don’t understand is this.” He poked the floating, jiggly blob with a finger. “What  _ is  _ this stuff?”

“Toasted spongy nickel foam.” Jazz blinked up at him innocently. “What? You don’t like metal foams?”

_ That’s  _ what it was? “No. No I don’t,” Prowl said firmly, handing the cube back to Jazz. “I appreciate you offering it to me, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

“Seriously? Over the  _ foam?!” _ Jazz let out a huff as he took it, disbelief rolling off his plating in EM waves nearly as loud as his voice. “How can anyone not like metal foams? They’re amazing! What is  _ wrong  _ with you?!”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Prowl said hurriedly, holding up his hands defensively at Jazz’s (over)reaction. “I just don’t like them. It’s—” He cast about for an explanation that Jazz wouldn’t be able to argue. “—it’s a texture thing.”

“Oh.” Like magic, Jazz calmed back down, his indignation disappearing like it had never been. “Well! In that case, I guess I’ll just have to make you one without!”

“No! Wait, Jazz, that’s not what I—” 

But it was too late. Jazz had already turned and skipped back across the hall into his own apartment.

Fantastic. 

How was Prowl going to get out of drinking whatever Jazz came up with next?


	16. The Perfect Tree (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 16: TREE DECORATING (bonus points if one of them is doing it completely wrong omg why am i in love with you)_

It was cute, Jazz decided, watching Prowl and their human friends decorate the giant evergreen in the rec room. He wasn’t sure who was helping who more — Prowl by lifting the humans so they could reach, or the humans by explaining what to do — but they made a cute picture together. Figuratively and literally, since Jazz was taking several pictures to document the occasion. 

Jazz had been looking forward to the holiday season ever since he’d found out it was a thing. There were so many traditions that looked like fun, and he wanted to try them all! He had already involved himself in several activities, in fact, but the tree was Prowl’s first foray into Christmas. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the thought, but Jazz couldn’t help but find his cultural naiveté adorable. He was having more fun watching than participating for once, and he didn’t plan to interfere.

“Can’t… quite… get it…” Spike grunted, straining to connect the ends of two strings of lights. Prowl, who had his hands cupped around him like a makeshift cherry picker, straightened his arms to bring him a little closer to the tree. “Ah! Thanks, Prowl.”

“You’re welcome.” Prowl looked down at Carly. “Was that the last one?”

“The last of lights, yes,” she answered, giving Spike a high-five when Prowl knelt to deposit him on the ground.

“But doesn’t this light up too?” Prowl lifted a gold star out of one of the many boxes strewn around the base of the tree. “Shouldn’t it go on now?”

“It does light up, but the star is special,” Chip informed him. “It always goes on last as the final touch.”

“I see.” The star went back in the box — for now. “What is supposed to be next then?”

“This!” Spike hefted an armful of colorful tinsel garland. It was so thick it nearly obscured his face. “You start at the top, and work your way down!”

“No, you start on the bottom and work your way up,” Carly corrected him.

“It’s a big enough tree — why don’t we do both?” Chip wheeled himself over to one of the garland boxes and heaped a pile of it into his lap. “If Prowl holds my chair, I can work down while you two work up and we’ll meet in the middle.”

It was a good compromise, and exactly what they wound up doing. Chip made it farther down the narrow top of the tree than Spike and Carly made it up from the wider base, but that was partly due to Carly deciding to wind more than the tree up in the garland at one point. Jazz giggled and snapped a photo of Spike, wrapped up in garland like a miniature human Christmas tree.

“Time for ornaments!” Spike announced once they were finished with (and he was free of) the garland. “Prowl, you start.”

“Are you sure?” Prowl had put Chip down and was looking at the tree critically. “The garland appears to be unevenly draped.”

“Christmas trees don’t have to be perfect,” Carly told him, trotting over with a large round ball ornament. Jazz smiled, remembering his and Bumblebee’s search for suitably sized ornaments. Good thing humans liked to put up oversized outdoor trees in their town centers! “Decorating the tree is more about the people you do it with than what it looks like in the end.”

“Shouldn’t the others be here then, to put ornaments on with us?”

“We’ll leave some for them,” Carly promised. “It’s okay if they add their ornaments later.”

“That’s another great thing about Christmas trees,” Chip explained. “You can always keep putting more on them. My parents would buy chocolates to hang on the tree once it was all set up, and somehow, no matter how many we ate, they always seemed to multiply.”

“We’d make our own garland out of popcorn and cranberries.” Carly smiled fondly at the memory. “The strings would go up one by one as we finished them until we ran out of stuff to keep making them.”

“And Dad’s going to want to hide the Christmas pickle in the tree,” Spike said from where he was busily searching for a particular ornament. “Once he and Bumblebee find something we can use on a tree this size, anyway!”

“Christmas pickle?” Prowl took the ornament Carly had brought him and straightened the bent hook. “What is that for?”

“It’s kinda like Chip’s chocolates,” Jazz chimed in, unable to stay out of the conversation any longer. “You hide an ornament shaped like a pickle in the tree, and whoever finds it on Christmas gets a special treat.”

“Right!” Spike stood, holding one of the ornate candle lanterns they had decided to put (sans candles, due to the risk of fire) on the tree. “It’s fun to see who can find it first.”

“That does sound like it would be fun,” Prowl nodded. He hadn’t hung up his ornament yet, still busy deciding on a good spot for it. “I hope Bumblebee and Sparkplug are able to find one.”

“We can always make one if we have to,” Jazz offered, sneaking a picture of Prowl’s serious-concentrating face. Carly might have said the tree didn’t need to be perfect, but that wasn’t going to stop Prowl from finding the perfect place for that ball!

“This is true.” Unsurprisingly, the place Prowl picked really was perfect when he finally stepped back. There was just enough room between the branches to display the ornament nicely without crowding it, or leaving the gap looking too empty. “You said I should go first,” he said to Spike. “Does that mean we are taking turns?”

“We don’t have to,” Spike shrugged, walking up to fasten his lantern to a low branch, “but it’s easier to take turns than crowding around the tree all at once.”

“Ah.” Prowl didn’t say more than that, and Jazz had a pretty good idea why. Multiple humans crowding around a tree was likely to result in broken ornaments, but Autobots  _ and  _ humans crowding around a tree would probably end in broken bones. Not very Christmas-y.

One by one they each took turns putting more ball ornaments, lanterns, and all sorts of other decorations on the tree. Prowl lifted the humans when they wanted to put their ornaments up high, and one time he asked Carly to place one for him inside a hollow near the trunk of the tree where his fingers couldn’t reach. Jazz sat back and watched as they worked, admiring the tree as it grew more and more festive with each addition.

Prowl turned to him at the end when Carly announced that they should stop and save the rest for the others. “Why didn’t you ask for a turn?” he asked as if only now realizing he hadn’t.

“Cuz I was havin’ fun watching you having fun.” Carly had been right: spending time together was more important than getting to do everything. “Besides, someone needed to sit back and keep an eye on the big picture,”  _ while taking lots of pictures,  _ “to make sure you didn’t mess everything up.”

“You are the right colors for a referee,” Spike joked while he assisted Carly moving the boxes over to the wall as Chip closed them up. “Were you afraid it’d wind up lopsided?”

“Something like that.” Jazz chuckled, then stood to get a closer look at the tree. “But it looks like you didn’t really need my help after all.”

“That’s not true. We still need…” Prowl trailed off enigmatically, turning to the remaining boxes and hunting for a minute before he found what he was looking for. “…someone to put the star on top of the tree.” Sure enough, when he turned back around, there was the golden star. He held it out to Jazz. “Would you do the honors?”

“Me?” Jazz froze, suddenly unsure. “But I thought you wanted to do it.”

“And I,” Prowl said gently, taking the camera from Jazz and pressing the star into his hands, “know how much  _ you  _ want to do it.” Jazz hadn’t said any such thing, but Prowl just gave him a knowing smile. “Go on. I’ll take your picture for you.”

Jazz looked down at the humans, still not completely convinced, but all three of them just smiled at him.

“Go ahead Jazz,” Chip encouraged him. 

“Yeah, we want you to be a part of this too.” 

“Don’t forget to smile for the camera!”

A warm feeling welled up in Jazz’s spark, spreading throughout his entire body “You guys’re the best, you know that?” His fingers tightened on the star, and he stepped up to the tree. “Thanks.”

When he looked at the picture Prowl took of him later, face open with surprise and joy as the star lit up unexpectedly in his hands, Jazz would identify that warm feeling as love.


	17. Christmas Wishes (TFA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 17: “We took our kids to Santa’s workshop and they both wished we would get together."_

With the advent of winter, there were a lot of things about Earth the new arrivals needed to learn. The thought of anyone not knowing who Santa Claus was, in Sari’s opinion, absolutely unacceptable! This state of affairs necessitated a trip to Santa’s Village in the mall to learn what the holiday was all about!

Naturally, Sentinel immediately rejected the idea. There was no way he was going to a mall crawling with filthy organics! But the twins, Jetfire and Jetstorm, felt differently. They were curious to see what this Christmas was all about, and eager to go with Sari and Bumblebee to see Santa. Jazz, being curious well, interceded on their behalf with their Prime, promising to go as a chaperone to make sure they stayed out of trouble. With Prowl along keeping an optic on the other two potential miscreants, what could possibly go wrong?

He really should have been more careful with his choice of words. It took less than ten minutes for their little group to get separated when they arrived at the mall and for Jetfire and Jetstorm to get into trouble.

“Are these yours?” an irate mall cop demanded, glaring up at Jazz. Two very sorry looking jets stood shrinking behind the aggravated officer, as if they could actually hide behind him if they just hunched over enough. 

“Yeah, they’re with me.” Jazz winced at the disaster beyond them on the other side of the food court. “Sorry ‘bout that. “I’ll take care of—”

“Don’t bother!” the officer snapped. “Just take your kids and go before they do any more damage!”

“They're not my—” Jazz started to say, but the cop had already turned to give one final nasty look at the twins before stomping off in a huff. “—sparklings,” he finished before muttering under his breath, “though sometimes it sure feels like it.”

Once the man had gone, Jazz rounded on his ‘kids'. “Okay you two. Wanna explain what happened and gimme a reason not to take you both back to the ship right now?”

“We are being very sorry,” Jetfire mumbled.

Jetstorm nodded emphatically. “Brother is right. We were not meaning to be causing problem.”

“Course you weren’t.” Jazz sighed. The trouble they caused was never intentional, but that didn’t mean there shouldn’t be consequences. Still… “Look, I know you really wanted to see the village,” and, if he was being honest, so did Jazz, “so here’s what we’ll do: if you two stay on your best behavior the rest of the way there, we’ll stop and check it out. Otherwise, we’ll keep right on walkin’ till we reach the next exit. Got it?”

“That we are promising, yes!’

“We are being on our best behavior rest of way!”

“Good. See that you are.”

Promises or no promises, it was a small miracle they managed to get there without further incident. When they met back up with the others, it was immediately apparent by the look on Prowl’s face that they hadn’t arrived unscathed either.

“Bee and Sari put you through your paces too?” Jazz asked Prowl. The two of them were standing off to the side of the Winter Wonderland while the other four raced (“No running indoors!”) around touching (“Look with your optics, not your hands!”) everything.

“They did, yes,” Prowl sighed. “I didn’t mean to abandon you, but—”

“—but you had to chase down your wayward sparklings.” It really was the best way to describe their behavior. “Don’t worry, I get it. Probably just as well you weren’t there to see the mess mine made in the food court.”

“As you were spared the nuisance mine made of themselves playing on the escalator.” Prowl shared a brief smile with Jazz before turning his attention back to the others. Sari and Bumblebee were busy explaining the styrofoam snowmen to the twins, who looked like they wanted to try making some right then and there.

“We can make snowmen later,” Jazz said, stepping away from the fence to stop that particular bad idea from taking off. “It doesn’t work with fake snow.”

“But there is being a snowmen right here.”

“Later,” Jazz repeated firmly. “Unless you want to leave now and go make snowmen outside?”

“But you haven’t even met Santa!” Sari complained. “You can’t go yet!”

“Jazz is meaning we are to be keeping our promise of ‘best behavior’,” Jetstorm explained.

“And that we are doing!” Jetfire swore. “Snowmen can be happening later.”

“Perhaps Santa has time for us now,” Prowl said, coming over to join them before they could get involved in (and carried away with) something else. “That family looks like they're leaving.”

Prowl was right. By the time they'd all walked over, there was no one ahead of them see Santa. The jolly man welcomed them all warmly, even if Sari was the only one who could actually sit in his lap.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed, bouncing her on his knee. “And what would you like for Christmas?”

“This is what for come to Santa?”

“Is you getting the thing you ask for?”

“Nah,” Sari said with a shrug. “It's like when you make a wish on your birthday, you just ask for something that would be nice to have, if you could have it.”

“Birthday? What is—”

“What kind of thing you ask for that—"

“Nevermind!” Sari cut them both off impatiently. “Okay, Santa? I just want one thing for Christmas: my father. I want my father to be with me for Christmas.”

The seriousness of her request and the sadness in her voice had a visible effect on everyone. Jazz saw Bumblebee’s shoulders droop and a wistful smile tug at the corner of Prowl’s lips. Even the twins shared a sober look, as though they were each imagining not having the other by their side.

“This is a thing you can be wishing for? Jetstorm asked.

“Yeah.” Sari’s voice wobbled a bit, but she forged ahead anyway. “Wanting to spend time with someone or to make someone else happy are the best things to wish for.”

“That’s a very grown-up wish,” Santa said, giving the little girl a hug. “Your father must be very proud of you.”

“I hope so,” Sari said, words muffled against Santa’s shoulder. She hugged back tightly for a long moment, but when she looked up, she was smiling her usual smile again. “So? What about you?”

“Yes,” Santa said, taking his cue from her. “What would you Autobots like for Christmas?”

“Can we be wishing for Jazz to spend the Christmas with Prowl?” Jetfire asked immediately.

“What?!” Jazz let out a surprised yelp.

“Yes!” Jetstorm chimed in. “Prowl is making Jazz happy when he is around. My wish too is for that, them spending the Christmas together.”

Bumblebee chuckled, giving Prowl a wicked grin. “Well then I'm going to wish for Prowl to share Christmas with Jazz — and maybe a little more than just Christmas, if you know what I mean!”

“Bumblebee!” Prowl gasped, his field coloring with embarrassment… and something else. Jazz could feel himself grinning when he identified it as _curiosity/interest,_ and Santa noticed.

“Well,” he winked, “that might be a wish I'm able to grant after all.” 

Prowl continued to splutter while the others just laughed. 

“Well Prowler, looks like our 'kids’ want us to hook up for the holidays!” Jazz smiled hopefully at his fellow ninja. “What do you say?”

Prowl was too flustered to say much of anything in the heat of the moment, but he managed enough to prove one thing: he wasn't trying to say ‘no'.

 


	18. Nothing to Blame It On (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 18: FRIENDS AU - “Our Christmas party turned into a tropical theme because the radiator is broken and it’s hotter than hell in here - damn you look good without a shirt I never noticed before asgdhfjgkh”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 10: Ugly Sweater Contest, Part 2 (Human AU)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20194741)

It wasn’t that themed parties bothered Prowl, exactly. He didn’t have a problem with other people enjoying them. Watching his coworkers, especially Jazz, getting into the impromptu tropical theme their office party had taken on due to the heating in the bar being on the fritz was actually fun. The problem was that, at some point, he would be expected to join in.

“Hey, Prowl! You gotta be boilin’ over there!” Right on cue. “At least take off your tie and undo a button or two!”

Prowl looked skeptically at Jazz’s shirt, which now had the top  _ four  _ buttons undone. “And join you in losing a button with every other drink until we’ve both lost our shirts entirely? I think not.” He’d already taken off the ugly sweater Jazz had given him. That was enough. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“You’re in a room full o’ people in a bar with the heat stuck on high filled with lights lettin’ off even more heat, and you’re seriously not overheated?” Jazz finished weaving through the aforementioned crowd to sidle up next to Prowl at the end of the counter. 

“The lights don’t give off that much heat,” Prowl countered, looking up at the tiki lanterns strung over the bar. The staff had been unable to fix the heater and had offered apologies, a round of free drinks, and a very swiftly executed change in decor to create a more fitting atmosphere. “I think these may even give off less than the Christmas lights.”

“You’re still drinkin’,” Jazz pointed out. “That can’t be helpin’.”

“It can, in fact,” Prowl said with a bit of a smirk, “since it isn’t alcohol.”

“What?” Jazz reached over to steal Prowl’s glass, his almost completely unbuttoned shirt gaping open. “Oh, come on! That’s cheatin’!” he laughed after taking an experimental sip of Prowl’s perfectly innocent iced tea. 

“It can’t be cheating when there were no rules established.” Reclaiming his drink, Prowl took another sip himself. “Drinking at a holiday party is no more mandatory than wearing a costume.”

“Technically sweaters ain’t costumes.” Even if they had had a not-costume contest for ugliest sweaters, which their department had won by a landslide thanks to Jazz. “And no one’s wearin’ ‘em now.”

“Wisely, since wearing a sweater in this sauna would probably give you heat stroke.”

“And just why do you think I’ve been wearin’ my shirt like this, hmm?” Jazz laughed again, reaching for the last of his buttons as he spoke. “Maybe I shouldn’t be wearin’ it at all!”

“Jazz!” Prowl reached for Jazz’s hands, but Jazz, despite having obviously had a fair amount to drink, was too quick for him. He hopped off the bar stool out of Prowl’s range and continued to strip. “Stop that!”

“But I’m so  _ hot!” _ The last button came undone. Jazz shrugged out of his shirt with an exaggerated sigh of relief that highlighted every last one of the muscles in his very visible chest and stomach.

“Wow…” _ He really is…  _ Prowl’s eyes went wide when he realized what he’d just said and thought. Rushing to cover his embarrassment, he grabbed his iced tea and promptly began choking and coughing after taking an overly large swig.

“Woah, hey, are you okay?” Jazz tossed his shirt aside and grabbed Prowl’s glass to prevent him from spilling any more than he already had on himself. “You know, you’re not supposed to inhale iced tea.”

“I — _cough!_ — know that!” Prowl wheezed. He felt Jazz rubbing his back as the spasms subsided, and looked at him gratefully when he was able to breathe without triggering another coughing fit. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“I’d say blame it on the alcohol, but there ain’t any in that.” And the truth of that meant that Prowl couldn’t blame his  _ thoughts  _ on alcohol either, which had his face heating with renewed embarrassment. Fortunately Jazz mistook his flush for something else. “Alright, you’re overheating and covered in iced tea. Time to lose the shirt, Prowl.” 

_ What? No! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues in [Chapter 19: Blame it on the Booze (Human AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20422786)


	19. Blame it on the Booze (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 19: “We’re coworkers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff Christmas party and admitted your love for me I don’t know how to act around you now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 18: Nothing to Blame It On (Human AU)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20385154)

Parties were fun. Jazz loved parties. The sounds, the socializing, the food, the drinking… especially the drinking! And the office Christmas party was one of his favorite parties. There weren’t a lot of other opportunities to see his coworkers outside the confines of their cubicles, after all! It was nice to have at least one night a year where they could all just be people together, instead of professionals. 

All of them, that is, except for Prowl. Prowl hadn’t even attended the office Christmas party Jazz’s first year with the company, claiming he had too much work to finish before the holidays. No one had expended much effort in trying to get him to change his mind. Not many people even got along with Prowl, much less considered him a friend. For his part, at the time, Jazz had just thought he was a giant workaholic stick-in-the-mud. He’d rather keep working than have a good time with everyone? Fine! Let him! They’d have more fun without him around to be a buzzkill.

That had been two years ago, right before the blizzard that grounded Prowl’s flight out for the holidays. Before Jazz had seen him sitting at his desk, sad, frustrated, and lonely. He’d probably been working more than usual to get ready for his trip, so he wouldn’t have any worries while he was away, and it had all been for nothing, thanks to the weather.

Prowl might have been the bane of Jazz’s existence in the workplace, jumping on him every time he made ‘too much noise’, chasing after him whenever his work wasn’t turned in  _ precisely  _ on time, and generally making a royal pain of himself, but Jazz hadn’t been able to leave him there like that on Christmas Eve.

In the time since that Christmas they’d unexpectedly shared together, Prowl and Jazz had gone from hating each other (though Prowl still swore up and down he’d never  _ hated _ Jazz. Jazz, on the other hand, blithely admitted hating Prowl on occasion) to… well. At first they’d still just been acquaintances that got along a little better than they had before. Office buddies, the kind of friends who socialized at work, but not outside it. Then, last winter, Prowl had bought Jazz that ugly sweater — the ugly sweater that had been the beginning of a friendship much more beautiful than it was. A real friendship, one that extended beyond the four walls of the office.

And now?

“Jaaazz!” A rather tipsy Prowl popped up at Jazz’s side. “Why’re you hiding back here? You should be on the dance floor!”

Now, another year later, Prowl was Jazz’s favorite part of the party.

“You do realize we’re at a bowlin’ alley, right?” It wasn’t easy, but Jazz succeeded in containing his laughter. “I don’t see a dance floor anywhere, do you?”

“Sure there is!” Prowl actually  _ giggled  _ as he pointed to the polished lane in front of the table Jazz had chosen to sit at. “And it’s your turn to get out there and,” he pantomimed throwing a ball, “let loose!” Unfortunately, his uncoordinated swing went wide, knocking several cups off the table and onto the floor. Beer and wine splashed onto everyone’s bowling shoes as their owners voiced their complaints. Only Jazz managed to pull his drink out of the swath of destruction, but even he wasn’t quick enough with his feet.

“Well I can’t go dancin’ now!” he chuckled, no longer bothering to restrain his mirth. “I’m gonna have to get dry shoes first before they’ll let me back out on the floor!”

“I’m sorry!” No longer giggling, Prowl looked completely horrified by the mess he’d made. “I’m really, really sorry! Here, let me help you!” He started to reach for the napkins next to the communal tray of nachos, but Jazz rushed to head him off, visions of melted cheese spilling everywhere flashing before his eyes. 

“Woah, hey, it’s okay, it was just an accident,” Jazz said soothingly, handing the confiscated napkins over to the others and mouthing ‘let me take care of him’ before standing and tugging Prowl away before he could make things worse. “Come on, why don’t you come with me to get new shoes, and we can get you a cup of coffee or something.” Something without any alcohol in it. Prowl was cute when he was a little drunk, but he must not have been eating anything along with his drinks to be this far gone while Jazz only had a mild buzz going. “And maybe somethin’ to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Prowl’s tone had the slight pout it sometimes got when he’d had a bit too much to drink, and it made Jazz smile. The man was usually too proud to let anyone take care of him. Do things for him, sure; Prowl was great at telling people to do things for him. But letting them do things he hadn’t ordered them to do? Not unless he was drunk, or the person helping him was Jazz. “Besides, nothing here tastes good.”

“I’m sure there’s somethin’,” Jazz said confidently. “We just need to find it.” 

The concessions counter was closer than the equipment return, so Jazz elected to wait on changing out his sodden footwear and stopped them in front of it first. “Hello! Got anything back there that’d help soak up some beer?”

The teenager behind the counter took one look at Prowl and chuckled. “Sure do! You looking for something sweet or savory?”

“I don’t need—”

“Sweet,” Jazz said firmly, ignoring Prowl’s protests. Then he spotted a familiar, enticing shape in one of the warming racks. “Are those churros?”

“They are. You want one or two?”

“Two. And he could use a coffee, while you’re at it. Black.”

“You got it! One coffee, two churros, coming right up!”

“Jazz, I  _ told  _ you, I’m not—”

“You don’t think you are, but you are. You’ll feel better with something other than beer in your stomach,” Jazz promised. Prowl had faceplanted at his desk from forgetting to eat his lunch enough times that jazz knew him saying he wasn’t hungry didn’t always mean he didn’t need food. 

When their order was ready, Jazz pulled out his wallet and fished out a couple of bills. He exchanged them for a styrofoam cup (with lid, very thoughtful) and a tray with two delicious, doughy, cinnamon-covered treats. He didn’t ask Prowl to carry either of them. “Thanks,” he told the cashier. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you!”

“Great! Now we’re all set! Come on, let’s go sit down and get some food in you so you don’t pass out and miss the rest of the party.” Drunk Prowl was cute, but drunk Prowl turned into sleepy Prowl unless measures were taken. It had only taken a couple of nights trying out restaurants around the office together for Jazz to learn that one. He’d been glad of the close proximity of his apartment more than once, and Prowl had been grateful for his couch.

“I’m not falling asleep,” Prowl argued, but he didn’t fight being directed to a table next to the coin-operated candy and trinket machines. “And I don’t need food.”

“Well then, don’t think of it as food,” Jazz joked, giving Prowl the coffee once he was seated and not in as much danger of dropping it. “Think of it as dessert!” 

“Dessert is still food,” Prowl muttered as Jazz placed the tray between them so they could both reach, 

“But it’s so tasty!” Jazz pulled a piece off the end of one of the churros and popped it into his mouth. “Mmmm.” Prowl just stared as he continued to tear off pieces of pastry, transfixed by his movements. He started drinking his coffee on autopilot, raising the styrofoam cup to his lips without really paying it any attention. Jazz didn’t indulge in an ‘I told you so’ when he kept drinking, settling for a small grin between sugary bites.

But Jazz hadn’t gotten the churros just so Prowl could watch him eat. 

“You better start on yours before I finish it all,” he warned, nudging the tray closer to Prowl. “I’ll just keep going if you let me. I love these things.”

“You love them?” Prowl looked speculatively at the churro in front of him. “It doesn’t look lovable. It looks dry and abrasive and boring. Like me.”

“Hckpfft!” Jazz nearly choked on the bite he’d just put in his mouth. “It’s not —  _ cough!  _ — you’re not — not li— haha, like that, Prowl!” he gasped out around coughing laughter. “You’ve never had a churro before, have you?”

“No.” Prowl hid behind his coffee cup, looking embarrassed by his own admission.

“It’s just a cinnamon-coated doughnut stick.” Jazz tore off another bite and held it out between his fingers. “See?”

“...That’s all?”

“That’s all.” Jazz waggled the piece in the air. “Go on, try it!”

When he did, Jazz almost dropped it. Instead of taking it with his own fingers, Prowl just leaned forward and ate it straight from Jazz’s hand. His lips brushed against Jazz’s fingertips, and had that been  _ the tip of Prowl’s tongue  _ darting out to make sure he’d gotten all of the cinnamon sugar?!

Now it was Jazz’s turn to stare at Prowl, watching him as he licked his lips and then tore off and ate another piece. Was  _ that  _ why Prowl had been staring at him earlier? Because he’d been looking at Jazz’s fingers and lips, imagining… whatever! Who knew what he’d been imagining! Jazz certainly wasn’t imagining anything right now! What — what was he supposed to say? Should he say anything? Prowl was — sure, Prowl was smart, and cute, and a surprising amount of fun to hang out with. But he was just a friend! A coworker! 

…Wasn’t he?

“You’re right,” Prowl said at last, pulling Jazz back from his still-racing thoughts. His words were still slurring slightly with the alcohol he’d drunk, but he smelled of cinnamon and coffee, not beer. He smelled… good.

“Sorry, what?” He was right? Right about what? That Prowl was just a coworker? That couldn’t be right; he hadn’t said that out loud! At least, he didn’t think he had.  _ Prowl  _ was the one who’d had too much to drink! Not him.

“You’re right,” Prowl repeated, slowly raising another sweet morsel to his lips. “I’m in love.” 

He wasn’t looking at the churro when he said it.

_ Oh no.  _

Every train of thought in Jazz’s head came screeching to a grinding halt, all colliding with each other at the same station:  _ How’m I supposed to act around him if he remembers sayin’ that tomorrow?! _

_...and why am I hopin’ he won't just blame it on the booze?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concludes in [Chapter 24: The Gift of Forever (Human AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20560936)


	20. What's in this Drink? (G1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 20: DRUNKEN CAROLLING (”that’s not a thing” “oh yes it is”)_

Whatever Sideswipe had done to his latest batch of high grade, it was  _ goood!  _ Jazz savored the small tasting cube he’d been handed before dispersing the container and giving Sideswipe a very enthusiastic two-thumbs up.

“You really outdid yourself, my mech,” he praised him. “This’s fantastic!”

“You really think so?” Sideswipe poured out a second small cube and sipped at it, but his face showed clearly that he was less than thrilled with it himself. “I’m not sure. It seems a bit too…too…” 

“Too good to share with the rank and file?” Jazz suggested hopefully. “I’m serious, if you don’t think this one’s fit for public consumption, I’ll take it.”

“Oh you will, will you?” A calculating glint appeared in Sideswipe’s optics. “And how do you plan on making that worth it for me?”

After a little bit of negotiating — during which he was careful not to promise anything he couldn’t actually deliver — Jazz left Sideswipe’s secret distillery in possession of his very own keg. Not the entire batch, since that would have been too much for one mech to drink on his own before it went off, but enough to provide a pleasant nightcap for the next several weeks… or a night of oblivion, should he need it after a mission. Jazz didn’t resort to that tactic as often as some, but every once in awhile it was just what the doctor ordered.

As soon as he had it situated in his quarters, Jazz drew another full cube and settled down to enjoy it. Mmm! It was so good! Just what was in this drink?

Jazz giggled as his thoughts triggered a song from his memory, one that had been playing on the radio a lot lately, given the time of year. He pinged his sound system to play it and sang along while he continued to drink.

_ The neighbors might think (baby, it's bad out there) _

_ Say what's in this drink? (no cabs to be had out there) _

He giggled again, laughing at the contrast between the drink in the song and the drink in his hand. ‘What’s in this drink?’ had been an idiom used to excuse one’s actions by blaming alcohol, even if the drink in question actually had very little — or even no! — alcohol in it at all. What Jazz was drinking, on the other hand, was very intoxicating indeed. The sweet taste he’d been so enamored with had masked its potency. Only now, halfway through his cube, did Jazz realize how drunk he was getting.

Lucky he had the day off. He wasn’t going to be fit for much of anything by the time he finished this!

_ Have a holly jolly Christmas _

_ It's the best time of the year _

_ I don't know if there'll be snow _

_ But have a cup of cheer  _

Jazz hummed his way through several more Christmas songs as he made his way to the bottom of the cube. Happy songs with happy tunes to match his happy mood. He didn’t stop singing even after he was done drinking, though he wisely chose not to draw a second cube. He really didn’t need it, charged as he was already from the first.

Actually, he should probably let Sideswipe know about that. He still had plenty of it left, and it really was too strong to allow him to just hand out like he usually did. Half-humming, half-singing, Jazz started to cue up his comm.

_ Here we come a-wassailing _

_ Among the leaves so green _

Hey! Now there was an idea! Why  _ call  _ Sideswipe when he could  _ carol  _ his way to give him the message? Share the joy and music of the holidays! Whether anyone wanted it or not. With another giggle, Jazz staggered to his feet. A few experimental steps proved he was still able to walk, and so he set off on his self-appointed mission to spread love and cheer.

He didn’t have far to go before he found his first  ~~victim~~ recipient. “Hi Prowl!” he called gleefully, waving to get the mech’s attention. “Merry Christmas!  _ Feliz Navidad! Flleeeze Navidad! Fuh-leeze Navidad, prospero año y felicidad!” _

“Jazz?” Prowl stopped dead in his tracks, a look of alarm spreading across his face. “Are you… alright?”

“Never better!” Jazz grinned broadly.  _ “I don't wanna lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I neeeeed!” _

Prowl winced. “Is this a preview of Christmas morning? If so, I can think of only one thing I will need.”

“Oh yeah?” Jazz wobbled and warbled his way up to Prowl.  _ “Santa baby, a 54 convertible too, light blue. I'll wait up for you, dear!”  _ He giggled. “Think Santa’d bring you Blurr if you put that inna letter?”

“I doubt it.” Prowl reached out to steady Jazz. “And that’s not what I was thinking of.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

_ “Wa~ant a pla~ane that loo~oops the loop? Me~e, I wa~ant a hu~ula hoo~oop!” _

“No.”

“Awww, tell me! Pleeeease?  _ Fleas Navidad!” _

“Earplugs!” Prowl blurted out. “Or duct tape,” he added warningly. “What do you think you’re doing, Jazz?”

“Carolling!  _ Carolling, carolling…  _ I was drinking, and now I’m carolling. Drunken carolling!  _ Good tidings to you, wherever you are!” _

“I’m right here,” Prowl sighed, “and those aren’t even the right lyrics to that song.” The hand on Jazz’s arm began exerting pressure on him to turn around and start walking. “I think you’ve done a bit  _ too  _ much drinking, and it’s causing a little  _ too  _ much carolling.”

“But Pro~owl!” Jazz whined, struggling against his grip. “I only had the one cube!”

“One? You only had one?” Prowl stopped trying to drag Jazz back to his room, abruptly changing directions and pulling him towards the medbay instead. “I think maybe we should get you checked out then. You shouldn’t be this affected after a single cube of high grade. You’re behaving more drugged than drunk.”

Jazz didn’t resist. A tiny part of his processor recognized that Prowl was probably right. That just made it  _ more  _ important to talk to Sideswipe! But his mind was too fuzzy and floaty to get the words to come out of his mouth. Trailing lazily in Prowl’s wake, all he could do was keep singing.

_ I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas, _

_ Mommy and daddy are mad! _

_ I'm getting nuttin' for Christmas, _

_ 'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad! _


	21. Skipping The Bunny Hill (TFP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 21: TEACH ME HOW TO SKI (lol jk I know how you’re just so f*cking cute)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 11: Passing Time (TFP) ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20219095)

Prowl established himself as a mech who rarely left the confines of the base almost immediately after he and Jazz joined Team Prime. Like Ratchet, his work only occasionally required his physical presence in the field, and it was safer for him to remain behind. His newly scanned alt mode could protect him from human detection — mostly — but it wouldn’t fool Decepticons. The best way to avoid injury or capture was to stay inside and avoid them entirely.

Jazz, who snuck off-base at least twice as often as he was actually ordered off it, liked to tease him about becoming a shut-in.

“One of these days you’re gonna lose your touch,” he announced one afternoon, silently appearing out of the silo’s shadows.

Prowl, alone at the main computer hub, didn’t even flinch. “I am perfectly capable of holding my own in battle, should the need arise,” he said calmly before looking up from the console to meet Jazz’s gaze. “Did you need something?”

“No,  _ you  _ need something.” Jazz strolled up and casually leaned against the walkway the humans used when they wanted to be at optic-level, conspicuously in the way of Prowl continuing to work. “You need to move around! Your joints’re gonna lock up if all you do is stand in the same position petrifyin’ all day!”

“I am not ‘petrifying’.”

“You may not be ‘petrifying’, but you aren’t doing your systems any favors by not getting enough exercise,” Ratchet interrupted unexpectedly from the doorway to their small medbay. “And before you even try to say you’ve been sparring, which you haven’t done with anyone in two weeks, or going out for an evening drive, which you haven’t done in  _ three, _ may I remind you that I outrank everyone on this base when it comes to their wellbeing?”

“Gotcha there,” Jazz said helpfully.

Prowl sighed, knowing it wasn’t worth the trouble arguing with both of them. “Fine. What would you suggest, Ratchet?”

“Hey!” Jazz pouted. “I was here first, and I got lots of great ideas for stuff we could do!” He gave a familiar flirty rev of his engine. “Stuff that’ll get your fuel pump goin’.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Prowl said, declining the implicit offer to interface as usual. Jazz, having expected the refusal, just shrugged. But if he was offering to help, that gave Prowl an idea of his own. “What about skiing?”

“Skiing?” Jazz repeated, nonplussed. “What about it?”

“Would that count as exercise, Ratchet?”

“Only if you don’t come back to me covered in dents to hammer out,” he replied.

“I will certainly try not to.” Prowl turned to Jazz. “Can I ask you to be my instructor? I’ve never actually skied before.”

“Of course,” Jazz agreed, though the confusion didn’t leave his face. “But why d’you suddenly wanna go skiing now?”

“We are currently stationed in a desert. The prospect of doing anything strenuous in this heat isn’t very appealing.” Which was true, even if Prowl had an ulterior motive on top of logical reasoning. “And I am curious. Apparently on Earth, skiing is considered an ‘Olympic sport’. The children were watching a televised broadcast of the ‘Winter Games’ yesterday, and it looked interesting.” 

A sparkle of excitement in Jazz’s visor banished any suspicions he might have had. Prowl carefully avoiding smiling in satisfaction. He knew Jazz had been watching that broadcast too, fascinated by all of the trick jumps and daring stunts. The opportunity to try a few of them himself was too much for him to pass up.

“We should probably start you on somethin’ a little easier than the giant slalom for your first run,” Jazz said with a chuckle, “but I’m sure I can find a way to keep it interestin’.”

“I’ve no doubt.” This time Prowl let his smile show on his face. “Would you please provide us with a groundbridge to an appropriate location, Ratchet?”

“I can do that,” the medic agreed, walking over to take control of the main hub. “Let’s see, we just need somewhere cold enough to ski, warm enough you won’t freeze, and remote enough to avoid being spotted.”

Prowl had already calculated several possible destinations, but he was content to let Ratchet make the selection, since he still knew the planet better than Prowl did. He didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, Ratchet input a set of coordinates — not ones Prowl was familiar with — and fired up the groundbridge. 

“Off you go!” he said, making shooing motions with his hand. “Don’t try anything too risky!  _ Either of you!  _ And call if you run into any trouble!”

“Yessir!” Jazz saluted smartly then took off running, the eager anticipation in his EM field buffeting Prowl as he darted past him.

“We will,” Prowl promised more sedately, then set off after Jazz at a brisk jog. There was no point in making Ratchet leave the bridge up for any longer than necessary, and besides — he was looking forward to this too.

A brief second of disorientation later and Prowl’s foot crunched down on the side of a sunny, snow-covered mountain. He adjusted the polarization of his visor, its normal yellow deepening to an almost orange hue. Jazz had already done the same. The usual blue of his visor now more of a purple-black, but his smile was as bright and white as the snow.

“Aww, yeah!” Jazz tamped his foot on the snow experimentally. “This is perfect!”

“If you say so.” A partial transformation gave Prowl a pair of not- _ quite  _ skis on the bottoms of his feet. He used them to shuffle over to Jazz, moving slowly to get a feel for the snow himself and to adjust to the shapes. The ‘skis’ were shorter than the ones the humans on TV had been using, but they would suit his purposes just fine. “How do we start?”

“We start by gettin’ used to moving where it’s flat.” Jazz’s feet shifted so that he had a pair of shortened skis as well. “You haven’t fallen over yet, so that’s a good sign,” he teased.

“I’ll have you know I have excellent balance and coordination,” Prowl huffed, though he had to pinwheel his arms slightly and flare his doorwings to regain said balance when his left foot almost slid out from under him. “Most of the time.”

“Riiiiiight.” Jazz glided easily over to help Prowl steady himself. “How ‘bout we practice movin’ forwards and backwards for a bit, then try slidin’ down a nice, shallow hill?”

“I think,” Prowl tried shuffling again, leaning on Jazz for support, “that sounds like a reasonable approach.”

It was also, as Prowl well knew, a  _ slow  _ approach. Jazz was a very attentive and encouraging instructor, telling Prowl what he was doing right and giving him pointers to correct what he was doing wrong, but Prowl could see that having to stick by his side was beginning to make Jazz’s plating itch. It was kind of adorable, watching him try so hard not to give in to the urge to just take off flying down the mountain, and Prowl wondered how long he’d manage to keep it up.

Impressively, it was nearly a whole hour later when Jazz finally gave in to the temptation.

“I think you’ve got the hang of walking now,” he said happily, practically dancing in place. “Think you can manage to stay on your feet without me for a bit?”

“So that you can take a run down the mountain without me holding you back?” Prowl said with a knowing smile. “Go ahead. I am sure I can manage on my own.”

“Great! You just keep walking, maybe try building up a little speed and coasting short distances, if you feel ready.” Jazz made his way to the edge of the level area they’d been practicing on. “Don’t worry if you don’t, I’ll be back to help you in a bit.” And with that, he leapt out onto the slope. “WOOOOHOOOO!!!”

Prowl watched as Jazz sailed over the snow, ribbons of white flying up in the air in his wake. He skidded effortlessly from side to side, launching himself into the air to reach down and grab one or both skis with his hand before coming back down. That wasn’t the most adventurous trick he tried on his way to the next level area though. Using a good sized hummock near the end of the run to gain extra height, Jazz tucked himself up over his skis to do an aerial sit-spin through his last jump. He came out of the final rotation just in time to line his feet up with the ground and landed perfectly, sending up a sheet of powdery snow as he swooshed to a stop.

“Well done!” Prowl congratulated him over comms. He wasn’t about to try shouting down the mountain at that distance.

“Thanks!” Jazz responded likewise, waving up at Prowl. “How’re you doin’ up there?”

“Oh, I think I’ve… gotten the hang of it,” Prowl said with an audible smirk, making his way over to the edge of the slope. “What do you think?”

“Prowl, what are you — PROWL!!”

Ignoring Jazz’s panicked shout, Prowl tipped himself forward and took off down the mountain. The wind whistled over his plating as he crouched to gain speed, tucking and twisting around the same small hills Jazz had just jumped over. They would have been fun to leap over, but doing so would have cost him in speed, and speed was what he wanted. Pushing harder, he continued to accelerate, trees blurring in his peripheral vision. He was already going considerably faster than Jazz had been, but he needed to be going faster still… Just… a little bit…  _ YES! _

He hit the final hummock and jumped, sending himself as high as he could go. But instead of spinning like Jazz had, Prowl  _ flipped. _ Locking his legs and crossing his skis, Prowl threw himself into a twisting inverted trick jump so precise it would have earned him a spot on the podium if he’d been competing.

When he landed (perfect score!) he sent up a spray of snow over Jazz as he braked, coming to a full stop within arms’ reach of the other mech. “So?” he asked nonchalantly as Jazz swiped snow from his visor. “How did I do?”

“You—!!” Jazz balled up some of the snow and threw it at Prowl. “You already knew how to ski! Why did you lie to me like that?!”

“I wondered how patient you would be with a beginner,” he admitted, chuckling as Jazz continued to throw snow at him. “And I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?! You nearly made my spark stop!” Jazz huffed and crossed his arms angrily. “Not funny, Prowl.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” Jazz moved away when Prowl stepped forward at first, but Prowl chased after him a few more steps until he was able to catch hold of him. “And I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“Wasn’t scared,” Jazz mumbled, but his plating and his field were both still tense with the fear he had felt for Prowl.

“Jazz,” Prowl said softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly on Jazz’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmph. You  _ will  _ be,” Jazz said with a sullen glare — a sullen glare that slowly gave way to a smirk. “If you don’t teach me how to do that jump, that is.”

Prowl laughed. “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concludes in [Chapter 22: Right Here Beside You (TFP)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20497453)


	22. Right Here Beside You (TFP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 22: “There’s a storm and omg I’m losing signal are you okay?? Hold on let me drive 489432 miles to get you the night before Christmas!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 21: Skipping The Bunny Hill (TFP) ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20472721)

Arcee had said he was overreacting. Bulkhead had just called him crazy. Ratchet had taken it a step further than both of them and tried to corral him for processor assessment, concerned that his priority trees were malfunctioning. But Optimus Prime, after a quiet, spark-piercing  _ look,  _ had simply nodded and said a single word: “Go.”

And Jazz had gone.

It didn’t matter that it was over a thousand miles to the Montana-Canadian border and the groundbridge was out of commission. Ratchet claimed it would be up and running in a couple of days, but Jazz wasn’t interested in waiting. Not when Prowl’s comms had unexpectedly faded out in a fog of static just before his signal dropped off the map completely.

Logic said Prowl had probably just been caught in the severe winter storms the region he was in was experiencing. The most likely explanation for his sudden silence was interference from the weather, not capture by Decepticons. But statistics were the kind of thing that comforted Prowl; they did nothing to quell the unease in Jazz’s spark. He  _ needed  _ to get to Prowl, to see for himself. Groundbridge or no groundbridge. No matter the distance.

Jazz encountered the reported storms long before he encountered Prowl, of course. The driving wind slashed at him with ice and snow, scoring his paint and stinging against his windshield. He could barely see a foot past the end of his bumper, even with his highbeams on. He wound up blasting his stereo to distract himself, and announce his presence to anyone else on the road. Maybe if they could hear him they’d be less likely to hit him.

It proved to be a wise move. There were a surprising number of people out on the road despite the weather already bad and still worsening. Jazz passed several cars mired in drifts and ditches, but he didn’t stop to help. He wanted to, but he couldn’t risk revealing himself. Plus, if something worse than the weather had happened to Prowl, he couldn’t afford the delay. So he pressed on, settling for calling the local emergency number to report accidents with license plates and mile markers. He could do that much to get help to them, at least.

In good weather the journey would have taken a day of non-stop driving. With his progress slowed to a crawl in the mountains by the blizzard, Jazz was on the road for three. A human vehicle would have needed even longer, owing to the need for the driver to rest and refuel. Forgoing recharge, Jazz simply kept driving, breaking only once for a cube of energon from his subspace. He’d brought several, with Optimus’ blessing, for both himself and Prowl for if —  _ when  _ — he found him.

He should have guessed it would actually be Prowl who found him.

“Jazz? Is that you? What are you  _ doing  _ out here?”

The transmission came out of nowhere, a short-range databurst that pierced the howling blizzard and very nearly caused Jazz to spin out in surprise.

“Prowl!” he pinged back, suspension sagging with relief. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Of course not. I said I was fine when Ratchet reported that the groundbridge was out.” With the low visibility, Jazz didn’t see Prowl’s black and white alt mode until he pulled up right beside him. “It is still out, isn’t?”

“Yup, still busted.” Prowl was okay. He was really okay. The knot of tension that had been tightening in Jazz’s spark the entire time he’d been driving finally started to ease. “Wasn’t that long a trip though, so I figured, what the heck. So here I am!”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Prowl pointed out. “That hardly qualifies as ‘not that long’ of a trip. Especially in weather like this. You must have left immediately after my last message to be here now.” 

“Your last message broke up and dropped,” Jazz told him. “Didn’t hear you reportin’ on your condition, just your location, so I…”  _ I was worried about you. _

“So you… What? Decided to drive for days, nonstop, in a blizzard, to make sure that I was alright?” There was a long beat of silence.  _ “Why?” _

“I…” Jazz’s processor stalled over the truth, still struggling to admit it to himself, let alone to Prowl. “I didn’t want you spendin’ Christmas all alone out here!” he blurted out. It was a weak excuse and he knew it. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Prowl veered gently to the left, nudging Jazz to turn as well. A large gray shape loomed up above them out of the swirling white — the warehouse Prowl had apparently been using as a storm shelter. Jazz was grateful to get inside out of the wind. “But Christmas is a human holiday, Jazz. Neither one of us celebrates it.”

“Well, no, not usually,” Jazz hedged, transforming back into root mode and helping Prowl pull the door shut behind them. “But I thought maybe it was time we did. Do something we haven’t done. In the past, I mean. Or, not do, exactly, but think about it. Maybe.” Oh, that had come out well. Jazz let his helm  _ thunk!  _ against the door. “What I mean is — I think — maybe we—”

“Maybe we,” Prowl said,  _ much  _ more calmly than Jazz, “should talk about a few things.” Jazz felt a hand on his arm and turned to look at his friend. His best friend. His… “We have plenty of time. Right?”

“Yeah,” Jazz nodded shakily. He went to take a step, to follow Prowl away from the door, but the combination of exhaustion and emotion was suddenly too much. Overwhelmed, Jazz collapsed in Prowl’s arms. “‘M sorry,” he sighed, giving in to the desire to cuddle in close as his systems started shutting down for some much-needed recharge. “I guess I just… needed t’ tell you somethin’.”

“Oh?” Jazz felt Prowl lift him and carry him away from the colds walls to someplace warm. He relaxed even further into those arms, resting his helm on Prowl’s chest inches away from his spark. “Tell me what?”

“…Never say never.” 


	23. Small Comforts (Bayverse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 23: PULLING YOU IN FOR A KISS WITH A SCARF_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 14: Softly Falling (Bayverse)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20293681)

At some point during the time that Ratchet had Prowl in stasis to work on his repairs, Jazz had taken to wearing an odd garment around his neck. Prowl mistook it for a tarp when he first saw it, but Jazz was quick to correct him.

“It’s a scarf,” he explained, unwinding the long, narrow length of—

“It’s a canvas tarp.”

“No it’s not!” Jazz laughed, balling the thing up and tossing it to Prowl. “It’s a scarf! See? Sure it’s made of canvas, but that’s just so it doesn’t snag and tear on my platin’ like human scarves would.”

Prowl caught the loose ball of fabric and examined it. It  _ was  _ the wrong dimensions for a tarp, despite being made of similar material. Far, far longer than it was wide, it looked like it would make a better rope than a covering of any kind. Why Jazz would want to wear such a thing escaped him — especially if it had the potential to get caught on (or in) his armor.

He looked up when he heard Jazz laughing again. “What is so amusing?”

“You, lookin’ at it like it’s gonna bite you." Jazz walked over to stand next to Prowl’s berth. “Gimme that, I’ll show you. It’s really cool, and warm too!” While Prowl was distracted by the incongruity of calling something both ‘cool’ and ‘warm’, Jazz plucked the scarf out of his hands. He untangled it and folded it over so he had both ends in one hand and the folded over middle section in the other, then looped the whole thing over Prowl’s head.

Startled out of his reverie by the movement, Prowl tried to duck out from under it. “Jazz, really, I don’t need—”

“Oh, shoosh!” Jazz chased after him, not letting Prowl evade him. He might have been the shorter of the two of them, but that didn’t matter when Prowl was sitting and Jazz was standing. “Just give it a chance. It’s cozy!”

It was the work of seconds once Prowl gave in for Jazz to get the thing wound around his neck to his satisfaction. “There,” he said proudly, still holding the loose ends of the scarf in one hand. “What do you think?”

Objectively, Prowl had to admit: it  _ was  _ warm. The canvas was softer than that of the tarp he had accused it of being, too. More flexible. It fell over itself in gentle folds, pocketing the heat of his frame against his throat tubes and cabling. It felt… nice.

“Told you,” Jazz trilled happily, reading the approval on his face even though Prowl hadn’t said anything out loud. “So? Was I right, or was I right? Scarves are awesome!”

Not dignifying that with an answer, Prowl raised his hand to run his fingers along the edge of the scarf. The scent of oil from Jazz’s systems rose from the fabric, oddly soothing. “Where did you get this?”

“Aww. You wanting one too?” Jazz smiled, then did something even stranger than wearing a long, thin strip of organic fabric around his neck. Tugging on the ends of the scarf in his hand, he made Prowl lean forward so he could press his lips to the top of his helm. “Keep it,” he said softly. “Call it a Christmas present.”


	24. The Gift of Forever (Human AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Day 24: “I did that annoying thing where I put loads of smaller boxes inside one big box and you’re getting really mad but you don’t know that the ring is in the smallest box and I can’t wait to see your face”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Chapter 19: Blame it on the Booze (Human AU)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8718106/chapters/20422786)

“What the—?”

Prowl smiled when Jazz’s confused exclamation announced that he’d finally made it to his desk. It had been almost torturous, waiting for him to finish saying good morning to all their fellow coworkers. Steeling his courage, Prowl stood up and walked over to join his lover in front of the enormous box that had replaced his chair.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, perching on the corner of Jazz’s desk. “What do you think?”

“This is from you?” Jazz stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “This’s why you had to work late last night, isn’t it? I knew you weren’t really behind on that project!”

“I  _ did  _ have work,” Prowl insisted, “but I also wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised!” Jazz ran his hands over the huge present, feeling for the edge of the bright paper so he could unwrap it. “What’d you do, get me a new chair? Come on. Office furniture is a lame Christmas present. Even in an office.”

“It’s not your only present,” Prowl promised; something Jazz knew perfectly well thanks to the growing stack of gifts beneath the tree in their shared apartment. “But I wanted to give you this one here.”

“Needs an audience, does it?” Jazz gestured to the people turning in their chairs and peeking over filing cabinets to see what the commotion was about. 

Having their attention directed at them actually made Prowl a bit nervous, but it also helped to distract him from his  _ other  _ anxiety. He had been counting on that to keep him from backing out, and so far it was working. “You do seem to be gathering a crowd,” was all he said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t keep them,”  _ or me,  _ “waiting.”

“Oh, alright. I  _ suppose  _ I could open it. I can’t  _ possibly  _ get any work done without a chair anyway.” That made Prowl chuckle, as it was undoubtedly meant to. Jazz getting his work done was still an occasional point of contention between them. They’d come a long way since that first Christmas together though, especially since becoming a couple. Prowl being moved to a different team when they announced their relationship so they no longer worked directly together had made a big difference.

The wrapping paper didn’t stand a chance once Jazz finally tore into it. The box was nearly as tall as he was, so there was quite a lot of it on the floor when he finished. “Ah ha!” he said triumphantly, pointing to the now clearly revealed picture of an office chair on the side. “See? A new chair. You’re  _ way _ too predictable, Prowl.”

“Am I?” Prowl arched his eyebrow. “I suppose you must be right. After all,” he took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee, “everyone knows it’s impossible for a box to contain anything other than what the label says it does.”

Jazz glared playfully at the onlookers who dared to giggle at that. “Okay, okay, I’m opening the box! And if it’s a chair, I’m gonna brain you all with it.” That just made them laugh harder, and Jazz laughed with them a moment later when he got the top of the box open. “Everyone’s safe! It’s not a chair!”

“Then what is it?” someone yelled out.

“Iiiiiit’s… packing peanuts!” Jazz announced dramatically, reaching into the box and lifting out an armful of tiny styrofoam bits. “Just what I always wanted! Hooray!” Unsurprisingly, his next move was to throw them up in the air to rain down on everyone and everything in the vicinity. Static made them stick to hairdos, sweaters, and computer monitors like little puffs of pastel snow.

“Just remember who has to clean all this up,” Prowl reminded him, covering his coffee so none of the styrofoam could fall into it and melt.

“You’re right. I should make sure the cleaning crew knows just how much we really appreciate them!” Jazz punctuated his sentence with another armful of styrofoam. Some less fortunate (or less clever) members of the office bemoaned the contamination of their coffees. “Just kidding. I know you’re the one who’ll have to clean it up.”

“Me?” Prowl blinked innocently. “You’re the one throwing it everywhere.”

“And you’re the one brought it in here,” Jazz countered, “and made it impossible to open without—” He broke off, thumping his hand against something inside the box. “Hold on, I think I found — seriously Prowl? Another box?”

Sure enough, after rustling through the styrofoam a little more, Jazz was able to extract another box, wrapped in the same paper as the first. It was a large box, though nowhere near as large as the one it had come out of. Jazz kicked the now-empty (save for additional styrofoam) first box aside and braced the new one against his desk.

“I’d guess a new computer based on the size of this, but it doesn’t weigh enough.”

“The first box didn’t weigh enough to be a chair,” Prowl pointed out.

Jazz stuck his tongue out at him. “Remind me to weigh all my presents in the future.” The wrapping paper soon joined the growing pile of debris on the floor, and Jazz opened the box without bothering to look at what the text on the side said. Just as well, since what he found was—

“More packing material!” This time in the form of masses of crinkled strips of paper, which formed streamers to the styrofoam’s confetti when Jazz started lofting it into the air as well. “You sure know what I like, Prowl.”

“I rather thought so.” Prowl surveyed the expanding circle of destruction around Jazz. “I know you like playing with things, and that you like making messes.”

“Heh. Suppose I do at that.” A few more handfuls of crinkled paper went flying, much to everyone’s amusement. “But I like getting actual presents too!”

“And I know that,” Prowl assured him, trying to assure himself in the process. “Keep going.”

Jazz did, though he rolled his eyes at Prowl when he found another wrapped box buried in the paper. “Really? How many of these are there?”

“That,” Prowl said mysteriously, “would be telling.”

“You’re lucky I love you, you know that?” 

Prowl tried to focus on the words rather than the slight edge of irritation in Jazz’s voice. At least he still seemed to enjoy tearing the paper off yet another box. He didn’t make as much of a production out of the tissue paper inside as he had with the other packing materials, however. Instead, he simply wadded it up into balls and tossed them aside until he reached another box and repeated the process.

And repeated it again. 

And again.

By the time he finally got down to the  _ tenth _ box, which was small enough it fit in the palm of his hand, Jazz was looking genuinely frustrated. “This had better be the last one,” he grumbled, surrounded by empty boxes and shredded wrapping paper. “I can’t believe you! Just how long did you spend doing this, anyway?”

“You know what time I got home last night,” Prowl said, trying for teasing to cover his growing tension, but not quite pulling it off. Jazz’s annoyed expression melted away into one of concern at the vulnerability in his voice, and he set the box down on his desk so he could take Prowl’s hand instead.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not mad. I’m… well, okay, I’m not lookin’ forward to cleanin’ up this mess, yeah, but I’m not mad.” He squeezed Prowl’s hand. “Unless that last box is a pack of travel tissues or something.”

“It’s not,” Prowl whispered, suddenly unable to tear his gaze away from his now very cold coffee. The rest of the office picked up on his embarrassment and did their best to pretend not to listen (though they were all far too curious about the last box after so much buildup to actually leave now). 

“Then we’re okay.” Jazz squeezed his hand again. “We are okay, aren’t we?”

_ We.  _ “Yes.” Prowl set down his coffee and picked up the box, still holding onto Jazz’s hand. Forcing himself to look Jazz in the eye, he slid slowly off the edge of the desk to kneel in the scattered shreds of paper and packing peanuts. He watched Jazz’s eyes get wider and wider as it started to sink in — the size of the box, the pose Prowl was assuming. 

Prowl could feel Jazz’s hand start to tremble in his.

“Prowl…?” 

“Jazz.” Ignoring the gold and green paper still wrapped around it, Prowl held the real present up like the jewelry box it was. “Will you… will you…” Nerves and emotion nearly strangled his words, but somewhere Prowl found the strength to continue. “Will you spend Christmas with me?” He smiled hopefully. “All your Christmases with me?”

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as Jazz let go of Prowl’s hand to take the box. He peeled the paper away from it gently, almost hesitatingly, and the soft gasp he let out when he saw the black velvet underneath was almost deafening.

Everyone held their breath as he lifted the lid to reveal a simple, unmistakable gold band.

“Oh… Prowl…!!” Jazz threw himself into Prowl’s arms, knocking him into the discarded boxes and tissue paper.  _ “YES!” _

The office cheered as Jazz blatantly broke the rules regarding PDAs to kiss Prowl senseless. Prowl, happier than he could remember ever being in his life, didn’t reprimand him. 

He just kissed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! May whatever holiday you celebrate bring you and your family lots of love and joy. Thank you for counting down the days with me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Christmas Cookies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719240) by [dragonofdispair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair)




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